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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23658310">green tea kit kats // petekey</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/otterhatesyou/pseuds/otterhatesyou'>otterhatesyou</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, M/M, Summer of Like, TW: Violence, This is a love story, Yearning, and finally... smut, based loosely off of petes livejournal posts, big summer vibes, its a summer of like AU, its basically the summer of like, its soft for the most part, references to drinking, references to sexual abuse, warped tour 2005 but its not</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:15:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>53,741</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23658310</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/otterhatesyou/pseuds/otterhatesyou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>[petekey tour AU]. </p><p>With every day the same, Pete was stuck in a boredom rut for most of his band's tour last year: drink coffee, write, perform, repeat. </p><p>Planet Honey Pop is due to travel again for tour soon, and he needs something, anything, to make it bearable. He never intended to have someone else's body on his, calloused fingers splayed across his chest or entwined within his in their own right. </p><p>Pete never intended to feel like a teenager again, sneaking off behind tour busses for illicit kisses and staying up late on the phone. </p><p>There's a certain vulnerability that coincides with spending all your time in a tiny, dark bunk. But will it stay under the covers, or will it become more than Pete had bargained for?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mikey Way/Pete Wentz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. so give me all your poison, and give me all your pills</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is an AU in which the general events of the summer of like happen, except it's also completely different because I fucking said so. But I swear you'll still cry...</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>June gloom was now almost a distant memory on the horizon, and the weather was beginning to gradually get warmer, despite there still being spells of rain. It was that odd type of rain, anyway, the fine kind that gets you wet but has an underlying feeling of Summer in Saint Tropez. </p><p>I discarded the tatty Ironman duvet from over my head and stared into the lightest corner of my room - the far corner which was being gently flooded with light from the outside world. Disgusting. It was early. Almost ten, my phone screen revealed. Ungodly, almost.</p><p>With a groan and exactly three exaggerated stretches, I rolled out of bed and sent a messy stack of Kerrangs flying across the carpet.</p><p>"Fuck", I swore, infuriated by the sheer stupidity of this blunder. I had been belittled by my own body. Once a world-famous rock star, now a heap of bedsheets on a dirty floor. Bonus points for the stray converse shoe that was stabbing me in the coccyx.</p><p>After five months of deliberation with Patrick, Andy, and Joe, I'd concluded that perhaps I was stuck in a rut.</p><p>I felt like we'd only just gotten off of our world tour because my useless body was yet to acclimatize when in actual fact, our fourth album had been out for seven months now.</p><p>My brain couldn't comprehend time: never had been able to, never would be able to.</p><p>Despite this being my house, my entire band plus our insufferable agent, Brad, were gathered before I'd even rose and shone. I wasn't a fan of Brad, and the only good thing I could possibly imagine about him joining us for all of our tours and meetings was that our management team hardly spoke to me. It was all, "you just focus on yourself, Petey. We'll chat with the others", or something along those lines.</p><p>It was Joe who said something to me first that morning. When I shimmied into the kitchen in pajama pants, he raised his messy eyebrow and pointed at his phone screen.</p><p>"Look at the date", he stared blankly. "This time tomorrow, we'll be in Ohio. If you manage to stay awake that long".<br/>
"Good morning to you too, Joseph. And everyone. Standing in my kitchen".<br/>
"Morning, princess. It's actually Patrick's kitchen too", Andy grinned at me from where he was leaning his masculine body to be propped up against my window ledge. I smiled back at him and then did a double-take and saw what I initially thought I had. There was film wrapped tightly around his thick bicep.<br/>
"Another one?", I took a quick glance over the intricately inked man. He looked like an artist's sketch pad at this point. "Didn't think you'd find room for another tattoo".<br/>
"Quiet, please. Thank you, mother. I've decided that this is my last sleeve tattoo - after this, I move onto legs. What do they call leg tattoos anyway? Leg sleeves? I'm getting leg sleeves".<br/>
"Leg sleeves are pants", chimed Patrick.<br/>
I laughed and look at Andy. "You're like a very handsome color-by-numbers", I winked. He rolled his eyes with the slightest glimmer of a smile. It was a good thing I knew he loved me like a brother, or he might have had the right to be offended by this taunting.</p><p>All three of these guys were like my brothers, in actual fact. There weren't many times where I hadn't come to them with my problems. I'd text them if I couldn't remember a song title, or if I was thinking of one of our inside jokes.</p><p>They were the first few people I called from the parking lot two years ago. I was certain that I was dying, and in my certainty, I knew that I wanted my three brothers to be the last people I spoke to.</p><p>I don't remember much from that day, I must've blocked it out for self-preservation. When I reflect upon it, I can only seem to recall what happened three days later, when everyone was crowding around my hospital bed: my family, the band...</p><p>You hear the phrase "fame got to them" but you never really absorb the power, nor the true meaning, of those words. I was hardly even a teenager when we started Planet Honey Pop, and what was initially just a shitty garage band had skyrocketed into something much more existential the second I left high school. Being eighteen and having record deals, press interviews and photo-shoots suddenly shoved my way was something that - due to lack of mental preparation - kind of caved me in.</p><p>Of course, shitty mental health was the nail in the coffin that I so desperately wished to be in. I still can't listen to the song that played when I swallowed the tablets: it was hallelujah, a very religious song, which was ironic because my experience was anything but godly.</p><p>Now, as well as having written three best selling albums already, I also remained partially unmedicated, only taking my anti-depressants when I spiraled. My love-hate relationship with happiness had brought me to start up my own suicide prevention campaign, 'Keep on keeping on', which I wore around my wrist in the form of a rubber logo bracelet at every waking moment. All my friends had them too. In solidarity. That's what love was to me.</p><p>I was still reminded every day of what I'd put everyone through and it killed me to finally understand how selfish I had been. I just remembered waking up from my medically induced coma with a large empty feeling, probably from having my stomach pumped and seeing my mom staring blankly at the ground. I twisted my head and saw Patrick playing a half-hearted game of cards with my step sister. I spoke my first word, a blatant little "hi" and then suddenly their worlds pieced back together again. That was the biggest hug I'd ever had, that day.</p><p>Planet Honey Pop had grown with me because we were growing up together. I was the baby of the group because I was twenty one and cripplingly single (not to mention the shortest of us all), but the other guys weren't exactly grandpas, nor vertically superior: Joe was twenty-two and had a girlfriend, although I wouldn't exactly call them steady. Joe didn't do steady. I'd lost track of his relationships a long time ago, but he seemed to be in one at any given moment; Andy was twenty-three and engaged, and I liked his wife, though we didn't interact with her often. She kept her private life secluded, which I respected; Patrick was twenty-two and was expecting a kid with his wife - I lived with them. It was weird because he'd always been my best friend, in my year at school, with scraped knees and baby fat, and yet here he was - married. Baby on the way.</p><p>Us rock stars grew up quickly. We were the kind of guys who strongly believed we were only famous to put our future kids through college. Rock star status? Perhaps not. Good guy band of short, metaphorical dads who like synthetic pop beats and cheesy puns status? Check. Absolutely.</p><p>Patrick was over on the sofa, discussing something with Brad. He had his reading glasses on despite there being no paperwork around, and his hair was newly cut underneath his trusty hat.<br/>
"That's very short", I told him, sitting down in the sofa crease that had sagged to match my spinal shape over the years. Patrick turned to me and let a heavy breath out of his nose.<br/>
"I got it done this morning before I got back to let the guys in. It's supposed to be kind of... punk. Do you like it?", he blushed a little and raised his hand to run through it.<br/>
"It's so different... I love it", I stated, only adding the latter when I realized how insecure he was getting over the whole ordeal.<br/>
"Thanks, PeterPan", he said. "Are you tired? I know we're ribbing you but if you're not sleeping well then maybe you could-".<br/>
"Pat, I'm fine", I said. I knew what he was thinking, and what he was going to suggest - he'd tell me that if I was worried or stressing about this upcoming tour, maybe I should just stay home. "Where's Eliza?".<br/>
"She's sleeping", Joe hollered, and I whipped my head round in slight confusion.<br/>
"So she's allowed to sleep until midday?".<br/>
"She's pregnant, Pete. She's also not coming on tour with us", Patrick took my face in his hands. "Hey, don't look glum, chum. She'll visit us in some states, I promise".</p><p>Patrick's wife was the only girl I knew who had ever really got into the tour stuff - I mean, I guess it was because she'd started as a groupie. Not for us, for some weird alternative nineties band, but that lifestyle still had her learning all the ropes. Part of me wished she wasn't carrying my little godson so that she could be there the whole tour.</p><p>"There's just a couple of things we have to go over with Brad before we head to the airport".<br/>
"Ah, organization. My strong point", I stated blankly, "States, dates, roller skates. What's the haps?". Brad looked at me with furrowed brows, his sentence not coming out with ease.<br/>
"Pete, you have to take your medication with you", he said. "You went on your world tour unmedicated last year and it kind of... it zombified you. Eightbit is prestigious. Not every alt band gets a chance to do it. We can't have you ruined it".</p><p>I would've summoned my inner bratty child and vehemently protested, but the slightly more mature young man inside of me knew that he was right.</p><p>Though the others had taken comfort in personal things during our downtime - Patrick video chatting his wife or flying her out to be here, Joe binging his vintage Star Wars tapes, Andy going out on runs or participating in long training sessions - I didn't have a wife to call, and the Star Wars franchise just confused me. I certainly wasn't interested in a CrossFit vegan lifestyle.</p><p>I had nothing. That shit hurt, especially for someone in recovery like I was. I was fragile.</p><p>That's why I poured every last fiber of my fragile being into practicing bass and writing new music. I'd be up until four every morning, my eyes crossed and watering from focusing so intensely, my body basically ninety percent coffee.</p><p>"Alright, alright. I'll take them", I nodded, Joe, making his way over to pat me on the back out of sympathy. "But I'm not gonna use them". Andy sighed happily and looked at me like perhaps I was a lost cause. "I know a lot about fitness therapy - you're welcome - and I'm sure there won't be any triggers. Well done, Pete".</p><p>I fucking loved them. I adored them. I'd take a bullet for my boys. But since the incident occurred two years ago they had been treating me like a bull in a china shop, gently coaxing me into situations as if I was going to spook and turn around and shatter all the teacups.</p><p>With every day the same, I was stuck in a boredom rut for most of last year. Planet Honey Pop was due to start traveling again for Warped Tour this afternoon, and I needed something, anything, to make it bearable.</p><p>I never intended to have someone else's body on mine, calloused fingers splayed across my chest or entwined within mine in their own right.</p><p>I never intended to feel like a teenager again, sneaking off behind tour busses for illicit kisses and staying up late on the phone. I never intended to reach such a high level of intimacy and vulnerability with someone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. hope it gives you hell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ohio was strange.</p><p>I'd never been to this state before, but when the plane landed we couldn't collect our tour bus due to the fact it was still being cleaned out. The rest of the management team had their own (considerably but necessarily larger) bus so they opted to put all of our luggage on that one and lock it up safe.</p><p>We'd left it in the airport car park while most of us headed out to see the sights in a minivan rental, and all I could say was that Ohio was fucking strange.</p><p>Just to have one abnormally sized object was good enough for a mundane tourist, but when your state has both 'the world's largest basket' and 'the world's largest rubber stamp', you've got to accept your label of weird. Weirder than Florida. Maybe. That was a hard title to take.</p><p>The guys and I gave the expecting Patrick so much grief as we passed by the museum of contraception, cackling and telling him "should've gone there, Pat", even though we knew their conception was planned because we were genuinely the worst humans to ever walk God's green earth.</p><p>Brad decided to make some calls when we stopped for gas and arrange for the two tour buses to be taken to the first show's venue, insisting it would take less time if he drove us there and just dropped the rental back in the morning. Everyone agreed this was the best option, and I needed along with them like I'd comprehend it at all.</p><p>The gas station was also the weirdest place I'd ever set foot in, and I felt like I was really learning things about Ohio. Being in this state was like being on a date with a drunk girl who overshares about her daddy issues before the main course has even arrived.</p><p>Being inside this concrete desert was a surreal experience, but when Joe excitedly stated they had a Slurpee machine, it humanised it a little.<br/>
"Who else wants?", he asked, and my hand shot up like a little kid.<br/>
"Cherry flavour if you would, my love", I teased, and he played up.<br/>
"Of course, darling".</p><p>Patrick decided he wanted one too but my indecisive best friend had to make sure they had the exact right flavour combination before he made any final decisions, so the two of them went off together. I trailed off after Andy and we stood in the extensive linoleum aisle that was lined with every type of candy.<br/>
"Take your time", I raised my eyebrow, to which he kicked in my generation with an extended leg. Being vegan always seemed like a hassle, I thought, as I watched him flip the packets round to read the ingredients.</p><p>I naturally let my mind wander out of either habit or impatience, and found a treasure amongst the trash.<br/>
"What the fuck", I turned to face the tattooed boy. "Since when?". He read the packet I was holding in my outstretched palm and then scrunched his face up. "Gross, Pete. Green tea kit-kats?".<br/>
"Can you lend me a dollar for them?", I grinned practically angelically, and the makeshift father of the band took pity on forgetful old me and my lack of wallet.<br/>
"You've got money now, Pete. We're famous. How I still end up lending you dollars every day is beyond me".</p><p>Patrick and Joe joined us back at the checkout and they were both as equally as repulsed as Andy by my purchase, but I couldn't be disheartened as I sat in the back of the minivan with my cherry Slurpee and green tea kit-kats, having a mind-numbing and very flavourful experience.</p><p>The shape of the Germain Amphitheatre could best be described as either a giant clam or the tail of a mermaid. I wasn't sure where I'd pulled either of those analogies from but the others seemed to appreciate my wit. </p><p>"Are any of the other bands here yet?", Patrick craned to see, looking down at his watch. "It's two". Brad pulled up in the space between a shiny white tour bus and a smaller, shinier black one, and swivelled round to face us all.<br/>
"Most of the other bands are probably getting here around four, that's when you'll get your itineraries. There are already a couple of others here. Until then" - he distributed four sets of keys to those of us in the band - "I want my little rockstars to rest up".<br/>
"Sweet", I exclaimed, following everyone as we piled out of the minibus, carefully threading my key onto the chain that dangled from my neck and then tucking it under my scruffy red shirt.<br/>
"Responsible", Joe teased, slipping his into his back pocket like a normal person.<br/>
"Won't be laughing when you've lost yours before you can even say Planet Honey Pop", I provoked, and Andy stepped between us lugging two large suitcases.<br/>
"Boys. Love not war, yeah?".</p><p>The excitement of the tour didn't kick in right away: not when I flopped my body down into the sofa cushions; not when I picked which bunk I wanted out of few available options (I picked the one at the end of the narrow walkway, so that it felt like I was heading down a runway whenever I got into bed); not when Patrick made me unpack my cases into the storage beneath my bunk because he didn't want me living out of bags for the entire tour.</p><p>I was staring up at the large glass clock hanging above the doorway, passing time, when there was the hiss of the mechanisms opening and Joe coming inside.<br/>
"Whassup", he said, opening the fridge to grab a bottle of water. "You want?".<br/>
"I'm good", I shook my head and then strained my ears. "Who are you all talking to out there?".<br/>
"Oh, Vida Muerte are here. You should come to say hi, they're doing all fortytwo shows with us so I'm assuming we'll all be getting pretty close".<br/>
"I'm good", I said, and he nodded. Before he could ask if I was feeling alright because everybody always asked if I was feeling alright, somebody else joined us on the bus and the conversation came to a halt just as quick as it had begun.</p><p>I recognised him right away, most likely due to our mutual social media interactions. Sure, I'd sent my congratulations to his band whenever they achieved something and he did the same for me, and yes I enjoyed their music, but this was the first time I'd ever come face to face with him.</p><p>Or face to collar bone, as it panned out to be when I stood up to shake his hand because he was fucking tall. Towering awkwardly above Joe and I, beanie clad head grazing the unconventionally low doorway, at least five inches taller than me, give or take. I don't think he was quite six foot - it was just that everyone looked tall when stood beside me - but he swindled people into thinking he was by carrying it all in his legs. They kind of resembled the same awkwardness as a giraffe, and I noticed that one of them bent when he stood. And one of his denim-clad legs was rubbing away at the knee, exposing pale skin.</p><p>"Mikey Way of Vida Muerte", I smiled wide. His name and occupation were the only things I knew about him, and I'd use that to my advantage. "You're certainly a lot shorter on the internet".<br/>
"Pete Wentz as I live and breathe. Hey, Joe, Andy needs your help with something out there", he said, and then Joe excused himself, so it was just us two stood there. I looked up at the boy for a quick second and took in as much detail as I could without getting questioned. He had some acne scars on the right-hand side of his cheek which were really noticeable but he didn't seem to mind. He had the most well-proportioned lips I'd ever seen, light brown bangs that swooped across his forehead and tucked tentatively under his ear, and a jawline that you'd need a mathematics degree to find the angle of. I also noticed that his nose was oddly a shade of red in comparison to his skin.</p><p>When he spoke, he processed things first; I saw the cogs working overtime behind his hot whiskey eyes.<br/>
"Are those green tea kit-kats?", he exclaimed, making his way over to where I'd already made myself at home on the sofa. I laughed and followed him, sitting back down in the spot I'd instantly claimed.<br/>
"Take one", I offered, and he did just that.<br/>
"They're my favourite things ever, man. They don't have these back in Jersey but Gerard got me some when we toured Japan last year and I've been desperate for them ever since. Where the hell did you get these? You been smuggling foreign objects, Wentz?".<br/>
"God no, Ohio is just fucking surreal. They had those in the gas station and now I'm beginning to wonder if they'd stocked them specifically with you in mind", I grinned. The boy smiled a little, softly, with his eyes and the corners of his mouth as opposed to his whole face, almost like it was involuntary.</p><p>"You saw the big objects, then?", he guessed correctly, and I threw my arms up in the air in pure exasperation.<br/>
"Dude... who needs a big basket alongside a big rubber stamp. Are they trying to get into a quirkiness contest with Orlando? Because they might just be winning". Mikey shook his head, shoving the kit kat into his jacket pocket, turning on the ball of his foot to make his way over to the open door.<br/>
"So catch this one for quirkiness points: there's this Eightbit welcome party tonight and I can almost guarantee my band won't go because it'll involve a bunch of boozed-up twenty-somethings wasting their youth with booze which will all be triggers for my brother and whatever". I nodded at this. People knew about Gerard and knew what he'd gone through to get sober.</p><p>Mikey seemed relieved that I had at least twenty percent of a clue as to what he was talking about, smiling when I didn't ask him to elaborate and then continuing. "But you should come by".<br/>
"I don't know", I said, feeling sudden anxiety hit me like a wave. "I can't be around that kind of scene. The drugs, it's... it's not me".<br/>
"No drugs - not after a few summers ago when a bunch of bands got totally busted", Mikey shook his head. "No, they've got triple the security nowadays. Just a lot of dancing, good music, and uhm... alcohol if that's what you're into".<br/>
"I totally am", I smiled.<br/>
"Then I'll see you tonight".<br/>
"I suppose you will". </p><p>Before Mikey left the bus, he slowly twisted round to look at me.<br/>
"Hey, Pete", he started, sucking air through his teeth, "you know Ohio also has the worlds largest horseshoe crab".<br/>
"They have a fucking what?".<br/>
"It's in Hillsboro". And with that, he was gone, and I was left wondering what the fuck a horseshoe crab was.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. damn you look good and i'm drunk</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I hadn't been out in the real world in months. Not the party world. I had done things like going to get coffee with my mom, going on Patrick and Eliza's lunch dates with them, or going to band meetings, but for some reason, I had less of a social life than I did before our world tour. Which is saying something. </p><p>That was until Mikey decided he wanted to invite me to an extravaganza: the Welcome to Warped party. I couldn't say no. </p><p>"Are you sure you can't come?", I begged, standing up to wrap my arms around Andy's middle and almost tripping over Joe's legs in the process. Andy held me at arm's length as if I might projectile any second. <br/>"Today was Eliza's last day of work before her week off. Patrick's picking her up from the airport and we're having a quiet night in", the tattooed man explained for what could've really been the hundredth time, talking loud and slow so that I would comprehend. <br/>"And I'm looking after you, so I'm going", Joe grimaced, finishing his first (and last) beer. "Pete, seriously. These are only pre-drinks - how are you border-lining on drunk. You're such a dumb lightweight", he smiled, standing up so that he could take what I think was my fifth beer from me. <br/>"I'm a fantastic lightweight, actually", I bravely stated as I tried to grab yet another bottle, subsequently groaning when my friends pried all alcohol away from me. <br/>"That's discrimination!", I gasped, hiccuping furiously. "I need that, I need that so that I'm not all anxious". <br/>"Don't put yourself down like that. Just have fun tonight and regret it all in the morning", Andy told me, patting my back. "Now, Joe, get him out of here before Patrick comes back and murders all three of us".</p><p>The nightclub was situated in a renovated Victorian building that was at the back of the parking lot, so it wasn't that far for Joe to drag me collar first. Ivory and disco lights climbed the black and white walls and there was a constant pulse coming from indoors, enhanced by how all of the doors and windows were flung open. </p><p>Upon what was only the first glance I saw heaps and heaps of people from every band in this business, not even properly recognizing more than half of them; anyone who was anyone had turned up tonight, ready to get shitfaced and make out on the dance floor. </p><p>Straight upon entrance, I was offered beer from a stranger which I shrugged off, only to have another one forced upon me: there were so many people here. So many. They were spilling out into the garden, and some of them were even stripped down to their underwear in the large hot tub. </p><p>"I can see Brad", Joe shouted at me over the music. "Didn't know he was here. You coming?". <br/>"Gonna find Pete", I mumbled, and Joe nodded. <br/>"Keep your phone on vibrate. I'll call you when it's time to leave. Don't take anything". <br/>"Promise", I messily hugged Joe, and then he danced off to socialize with the one person he recognized. </p><p>I wandered aimlessly for a while - maybe about fifteen minutes, maybe about twelve seconds - and Mikey's eyes lit up when I finally found him. He was leaning against a wall and then chatting to a group of guys with floppy fringes, but he slipped away when he saw me and snaked an arm around my waist. I smiled as I was greeted by him lunging into a friendly hug. <br/>"Hello to you too, Mikey", I felt my cheeks redden slightly before regaining composure. He was wearing very tight jeans and they weren't helping the anxieties in my stomach settle very well. <br/>"Hey!", Mikey grinned. "You came! And you're absolutely shit-faced". <br/>"You don't seem very drunk?", I asked in shock, to which my Mikey entwined his fingers in mine and began weaving me through the crowds behind him. <br/>"Not very drunk, just tipsy and happy. I'm being a good little boy. You know, I've decided I don't even like alcohol that much... I must be growing up or whatever they call it", he spoke as we walked, me straining my ears to hear. I grinned in secret at the latter of his comment.<br/>"Am I gonna meet your friends?", I asked, and like that was a cue, I found myself being made to shake hands with a short-ish girl. Mikey grinned. <br/>"Pete, this is Cassadee - Cassie, meet Pete Wentz". <br/>"Pete!", she pulled me into a hug like I'd been her friend my entire life, something that made happiness overcome my previous doubt. "I absolutely love Planet Honey Pop, we should jam sometime. Mikey hasn't stopped gushing about you all night". <br/>"Oh? All the bad things I hope", I slurred. I was such an idiot. </p><p>Cassadee's hair was brown and choppy with thick, blonde highlights, sitting on her shoulders. She was wearing a really tight graphic tee and even though it didn't have a low neckline or anything remotely provocative about it, it hugged every single curve; even I couldn't divert my eyes. She was also styling it the fuck out with dirty converse, a black hippie vest and a denim mini skirt. </p><p>"I like the outfit", I said, blinking more often than a sober person would.<br/>"She's what my marginally gayer brother likes to call a 'fashion icon', actually", Mikey grinned. <br/>"You want a drink, guys?", she asked, looking in the direction of the bar. <br/>"I mean, I was planning to verge on sober all night, but a few jello shots can't hurt", Mikey shrugged, then looked me up and down where I was vacantly swaying on the spot. <br/>"I'm gonna go get some water", I suggested, and Mikey patted my back. <br/>"We'll be at the bar when you get back".  </p><p>I made my way through the maze of bodies, worrying about how I should've eaten that second packet of chips before I drank all those beers. I was beginning to lose my head. Then I was trying to find a bottle of water. </p><p>Then I was throwing up in the plant pot in the kitchen, trying to be quiet in case somebody was to walk in.</p><p>Alas, they did. The poor soul who found me was a couple of inches taller than me once he pulled me out of the shrubberies and stood me upright: from what I could make out (because his face was spinning) he was fairly attractive, with nice cheekbones and light eyes. <br/>"Woah there", I chortled stupidly, leaning against him like he was my best friend. I started to peer frantically around for my actual friends, but nobody was around. </p><p>"You may want to sober up", he suggested. "I'll get you some water, go sit down".<br/>"No! No, no. People are gonna see me. I'll go to the bathroom!", I protested, drunkenly stumbling when I tried to make for the door. The guy cackled wickedly. <br/>"Okay, big guy. That's the door to outside, for starters. And secondly, you're not gonna make it to the bathroom. Come on", he led me to one of the kitchen stools, sitting me in it and then stroking my forearm in a way that made me cringe. </p><p>"You think we should seize the bathroom while there's no queue?", the stranger said, voice raised a little even though the music was slowly growing more and more distant. <br/>"No, I'm sorry... I should be finding my friends", I said, trying to get up, but my lack of co-ordination mixed with his strength saw me being pushed back into the chair and having cold lips pressed against my neck. <br/>"Come on", he said, getting far too into kissing me, grunting and moving his hips all while he pinned my hands so that I was incapable of moving. </p><p>I kissed him back, but only because my mind felt all foggy and slow like when you try to run in your dreams. The stubble of his beard made my face itch, and it also made me all too aware of how masculine he was. At first, I felt white-hot guilt jeering me, the type of regret I used to experience when I'd been in similar situations in high school. Eventually, when the stranger slipped his tongue between my teeth, I felt disgusted for different reasons.<br/>"Get off", I finally said, weak but clear in my diction, yet he stayed determined to ease me into whatever was happening.</p><p>His hot breath against my neck was clammy and disgusting, the sensation sending an indefinite shiver down my spine. I hated it. I hated being so helpless. </p><p>"You deaf or something, buddy?", a voice startled the stranger and caused him to abruptly turn around, me taking this opportunity to slip from his grip. I was relieved to see that the interruption was Mikey, making his way over to me and grabbing my hand. <br/>"Maybe I am", the man wiped his mouth and glared at Mikey, obviously angry that his plans for me wouldn't fall through now.<br/>"Unless you've forgotten your hearing aids, I'm fairly certain you heard him tell you to stop", he was furious, sucking air in through his teeth. I didn't think someone so soft could get so angry. <br/>"It's a misunderstanding", the man raised his hands, backing away. "I'll just-". <br/>"You'll just leave", Mikey said, and I felt his grip tighten on me. </p><p>I think he was taken aback. Mikey was skinny and young, but he was genuinely intimidating at this moment. We watched as the coward tripped over his own feet while he made his desperate exit, and then Mikey pulled me into his chest. We didn't speak. He just held me there, making sure I was alright. <br/>"You want to go somewhere? We'll get you sobered up", he said. I nodded, then I was letting Mikey tow me along as he tried to find the bathroom, touching the spot on my neck that was still stinging. </p><p>Who even was I right now? Where was I? With my hands shaking to lock the door behind us I realized adding beer to anxiety was like adding mentos to coke. </p><p>Mikey glanced down to my t-shirt. Unknown Pleasures. It was so grubby because of my own vomit and it had a rip in the shoulder, so I had half the mind to be embarrassed, but it had only cost me two dollars, so viva la vida.<br/>"That your favorite album?".<br/>"No", I breathed, taking a seat on the edge of the bath, "I'm more of a 'Closer' kind of guy".<br/>"That was a personality test", he said. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up".</p><p>The tall boy stood in the center of the room, twisting on a heel on the circular bath mat and halfheartedly looking around for something. He finally spotted a red solo cup on the edge of the sink and filled it up using the cold faucet. </p><p>"Drink", he instructed me as if he actually, genuinely cared, watching me to make sure I did. "We better get that shirt off of you too", he sighed, coming in to grab the hem. I flinched and nearly fell into the bath behind me, happily gripping his forearm for support. <br/>"Woah, pal, I'm not going shirtless". Stupid. Everything I was saying was stupid but I couldn't stop the words coming out. I felt moronic. Idiotic. Next level special. </p><p>Mikey raised an eyebrow and smiled as he lifted my top over my head. "Well, Petey, if you wanna stay in a puke stained shirt then be my guest, but I think you'd be much better wearing my hoodie. See?". <br/>"Ah". <br/>"Good", Mikey then pulled the soft black fabric from his own shoulders so that he was just wearing a tight red t-shirt, so ill-fitted that it rode up and revealed his flat stomach slightly. If I were in the right frame of mind, I'd have taught him a thing or two about wearing clothes your own size. </p><p>It occurred to me all too fast that we were now both sitting less than an inch apart, me with his too-big hoodie on, and that he looked really nice. He was handsome, I wouldn't lie to myself, with these mischievous eyes and veiny hands and a good physique. He wasn't girl-hot, because girls were more soft curves whereas he was all sharp edges, and I was a fan of the sharp edges. Boy-hot. </p><p>I suppose that slightly intoxicated attraction was enough to kiss him. </p><p>He tasted like grape jello shots. </p><p>"Who picks grape over lime?", I asked, licking my lips when I pulled off. <br/>"You're drunk", Mikey said blatantly but still wrapped his arms around my neck.<br/>"You're drunk too", I whispered, nodding as my face fell into a realizing smirk. He wasn't completely gone like I was, but I pointed it out anyway: maybe I had to say that to myself to be okay with what happened next. I had to make myself believe that Mikey and I were shitfaced, even though I was now only tipsy and he was almost completely sober. </p><p>I had to be as drunk as my mind would let me be to be okay with letting myself kiss a stranger. A guy. He melted into me, thankfully, neither of us having time to comprehend what was happening but drinking in every last drop regardless. Mikey simply opened his mouth and let me deepen the kiss.<br/>"You... I... I'm not...", I stopped because he could probably guess the classic straight boy cliché I was about to spout. "...but I can't stop thinking about kissing you". Punctuated with a hiccup. Classy. <br/>"Oh yeah?", he smirked, and I couldn't help but grin at how stupidly adorable he looked with his hair all fucked up and fluffy. "Like what?", he looked straight at me, lowering his voice to almost a whisper and expertly brought his perfect lips down to my neck, grazing them against the skin until he found my ear. <br/>"Mikey, I'm not-".<br/>"Don't”, he told me, guessing what was going to come out of my mouth, instead biting at my lobe and causing my heart to start beating faster. "Kissing me like what?", he asked again. When he was biting and sucking at my tanned skin I was a stuttering mess. It was only when he stopped that I could talk. <br/>"I... can I show you?".</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. we can blame it all on human nature</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Jesus, Pete! You're bleeding", Eliza sighed. "Come into the kitchen and put some ice on that, you'll bruise, you've got delicate skin".<br/>"It's not delicate skin I'm just... I just bruise easily. It's a blood thing, it's hereditary", I groaned as I was dragged out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, being forced to soothe my bloody lip with frozen water.</p><p>Joe was stood slaving over something that smelt like it was most likely pesto, and Andy was tapping out a beat with his drumsticks on Patrick's legs as the other man lay sprawled across him, half-heartedly reading through the tour itinerary for the thousandth time. </p><p>As much as it was fun to interact with all the other bands on tour, I secretly lived for these tour moments. These little tiny gaps of calm we somehow managed to indulge in as a group, in which we bonded and basked in the glory of the life we had worked so hard for. </p><p>They all stopped what they were doing to look at us with raised eyebrows and a couple of smirks, and I became aware that I was stood hand in hand with Eliza, blood on my lip and black charcoal on the rest of my face. <br/>"I bit my lip", I announced. "And we're doing face masks". <br/>"Right. Food is ready in twenty", Joe nodded and went back to stirring food in the big, silver pan. Clearly, that clarification was enough for him. <br/>"Bit your lip doing what, Peterpan? Are you okay?", Patrick asked, fussing over me. <br/>"He's okay, Patty", his wife reassured him - she always took my side and bailed me out when the guys started getting all maternal. <br/>Andy looked up. "You bite your lip when you're nervous". <br/>"Who's nervous? I'm not nervous", I said, letting Eliza dab the blood away. "What would I even be nervous about?". <br/>"Spiders", Patrick was quick to say, and Andy nodded in agreement, shuddering slightly. <br/>"Clowns?", Joe piped up. Eliza looked at me apologetically. <br/>"He should be nervous that this face mask is going to make his skin look too beautiful", she said, and that was the end of that, thank god.  </p><p>I must've still seemed slightly pouty when she prodded me back into the bathroom because Eliza closed the door behind us and pointedly asked, "who is it?".<br/>"What? We're just doing face masks and girl talk, there's no hidden meaning", I threw my arm up in the air like I was defeated - I had a point, though. This was merely something we did all the time at home. (Joe wouldn't be caught dead with cucumbers on his eyes, Andy wasn't any good at gossiping and Patrick's skin was already perfect. I was her best bet for this kind of thing, what with my natural ability to talk shit and an upbringing which consisted of Jess and my mom trying out face creams on me. Sometimes I felt like the daughter Eliza needed). </p><p>Eliza and I were suspended in awkward silence for a little while and then I got bored of it. Just when I decided to ask when I could leave, because the face mask was actually begging to irritate me, Eliza opened her mouth again and sighed deeply. <br/>"If you're acting out because I'm not going to be on all of this tour, I already said I'm sorry. You know I am, Pete".<br/>"You shouldn't be sorry. And I'm not 'acting out', I'm not eleven".<br/>"I know you're an adult, I'm sorry that we treat you otherwise sometimes, but I know when you're acting out over something so I'm very sorry that I won't be here to support you for the next few wee-".<br/>"I'm gay". </p><p>I sat down with my back pressed against the door, and she sat beside me, looking at me expectedly. The ball was really in my court. <br/>"I'm gay, Eliza. Okay, I'm... I'm not gay but I'm not straight either". <br/>"You... huh?".</p><p>Fuck it. </p><p>"I've liked boys since I was like ten... I've kissed guys. I've hooked up with guys, to an extent. I was with a guy last night. I don't know how or why but we were in the bathroom at the party and I kept trying to say I wasn't gay because I honestly thought guys were just a phase that ended when I left High School. But, well, I enjoyed what we did, even though it was kind of very 'awkward teenagers getting to second base'... so I must be... because you don't just turn overnight. I kept repeating in my head that I wasn't gay but then we kissed and all of the chanting just stopped - we kissed, by the way - and the minute he moved his lips away from mine I realized that all my life I'd been wrong about myself". <br/>"Pete...", Eliza watched me fall to pieces, trying to make sense of how I was so utterly distraught by the simple act of liking boys. "I love you, Petey. Hey, it's okay. Nobody's got a problem with it". <br/>"But I've kept it from you for so long", I let her pull me into her side, an awkward hug due to her baby bump but a meaningful embrace all the same. "I kept it in because I didn't know - I was so... homophobic to myself? And... well, it's one thing to laugh and joke about my preference in interviews, but it's a whole other thing to straight-up say that I like guys as well as girls. It's scary, El. It's terrifying". <br/>"Take your time, she said to me, running her hand up and down the back of my t-shirt. Her voice soothed me, which was a good thing because I really needed to get my words out right now. Once and for all. </p><p>"I don't want to be scared anymore", I squeaked, and I felt Eliza's heart break in time with my own as she kissed my head. <br/>"Pete, there's nothing to be afraid of. Say it". <br/>"I'm...", I took a heavy breath in. "I... I like who I like, you know?". </p><p>That was it. That was the floodgates caving in and the relief crashing over me like a wave. I was still petrified, but at least I'd gotten it out there. </p><p>Eliza seemed pleased to, grinning at me when I turned and looked at her. <br/>"I have questions", she said, making me groan. <br/>"Go on". <br/>"Who have you kissed? Boy wise? I know you dated that girl - sorry for bringing up the past - but were there boys before her? Or after her? And who was it last night?". <br/>"Oh god, okay", I rolled my eyes, lowering my voice to an even quieter whisper. "There was the drummer of my first band when I was like thirteen, who kissed me. Then I got with... Cherry... started having sex, started believing guys were a phase. Then she left me, and I got really hypersexual and I've kissed like half my high school football team as a subsequent. I got close to having a b-boyfriend when I was sleeping with this guy in my senior year but we ended it, thank god". </p><p>"Wait, what about the girls?", she said, alluding to the time (around my overdose, when my health was rock bottom) that the media seemed to pay close attention to 'Pete of Planet Honey Pop's new girl every night'. I sighed. <br/>"Rumours, mostly. I did sleep around... it was a coping mechanism. Thought I could 'turn off' my gay by sleeping with women. Guess I failed", I laughed a little bit, then Eliza stared at me in shock, then she laughed too. </p><p>"The guy last night... he's called Mikey". <br/>"You didn't have sex, did you?". <br/>"God no, I- jeez, Eliza, I don't know who you think I am", I snorted, nervous laughter hiding my awkwardness quite sufficiently. "Let's just say, blowjobs are hard work and I applaud girls everywhere". <br/>"Pete!", she groaned. "Wait... you... you gave him a-". <br/>"Yeah. I’ve been told i’m quite good at them", my cheeks were burning red but I was actually beginning to enjoy watching Eliza squirm. "And got one back". <br/>"I'm distraught, can we stop this conversation?", she smiled, shaking her head, short of breath from all the laughter. </p><p>She was my best friend, a mother figure and life coach. She pulled me into another overbearing hug and was smiling at me when we broke apart. I took this opportunity to wink. <br/>"He was cute, y'know. I think I'm... I think I'm okay with what happened". <br/>"And when am I going to meet this handsome fella?", she asked, running a hand through my pathetic, greasy mop of hair.<br/>"At this point, never", I gave a little sigh, one I'd gotten used to doing. "I think intoxicated hookups tend to ruin friendships, but we only knew each other for like two days, so I haven't really ruined much". <br/>"Ah well", Eliza said, looking me up and down. "I'm proud of you, Petey". <br/>"Thanks, El. But... this stays hush until I figure things out".</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. a killer dream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was later that same day way later, that I convinced myself to finally leave the tour bus and make an effort. I'd told myself that it was eight in the evening and that was simultaneously way too late to still be tired, and way too early to go to bed. I wouldn't bump into Mikey The parking lot was big which allowed the tour busses to be spaced out, so I only ran into a couple of people I knew and waved them an enthusiastic hello with both hands.</p><p>It ended up taking me about twentyfive minutes to get to the stage where Vida Muerte we're having soundcheck, not because I was lost (I'd been there doing the same thing earlier today, so obviously not), but because I met a mom with her disabled daughter who asked for a photo with me. I crouched down a little to be at her wheelchair's height and said, "with a wheelchair that stylish? Definitely! Look at the pink ribbons. It's beautiful, and it totally matches Planet Honey Pop's aesthetic". That made her day, and I could hear the two of them babbling in rapid tones when I eventually ended the conversation. </p><p>I could hear the familiarly upbeat baseline of Vida Muerte's hit single, Superstitious Hyperrealist, and lightly hummed along as I climbed up the steps to get backstage for a better view. </p><p>So perhaps I'd spent the past two hours falling down the wormhole of this band's discography, but it wasn't anything peculiar. I'd always enjoyed their sound, and I just wanted to get a better idea of who this Mikey was as a person. Behind his white-rimmed glasses. </p><p>He was a better bassist than me, for starters. It was his playing that had gotten me into their band in the first place because I saw it as something quite inspirational. Seeing it live was something else though, because of the energy he exuded: raw, blunt, tense energy that made me rock my body in time with his strums. </p><p>The second observation I'd turned up to their soundcheck with was that he was shyer and preserved in interviews than he was in real life. Perhaps it was that he was in the shadow of his brother's very flamboyant personality. It intrigued me. </p><p>They had finished their soundcheck now and were making their way over to where I was standing, twisting my many bands round my wrist habitually. Ray, the lead guitarist, was the first to recognize me, running a hand through his hair to fix his curls before stretching it out in a fist. I bumped it. <br/>"Hey, you're Pete! Dude, love your sound", he said. Then the rest of the band's attention and I was suddenly being introduced to Frank and Gerard  Frank was the rhythm guitarist and the shortest of the lot which made me instantly connect to him. He'd got a couple of tattoos, some extremely high upon his neck, and his jet black hair perfectly framed his pale face. He giggled a lot. He was generally very sweet. Gerard was the lead singer, and currently had greasy black curls grazing against his jawline. I also picked up on the fact that he had women's jeans on, and was rocking said women's jeans, and that he talked out of one side of his mouth.  </p><p>And then Mikey. Well, I knew Mikey. He knew I knew him, but no one else knew. But he made it known. </p><p>"We've met", he put his arm around his older brother, "he likes green tea kit-kats".<br/>"One of us, one of us", Gerard chanted in a monotone voice and I laughed out loud. <br/>"I've definitely converted into a green tea whore", Mikey admitted, to which Frank rolled his eyes and shot me an apologetic look as if to say 'those are the Way brothers and they're absolutely batshit crazy'. <br/>"You wanna come back to the tour bus?", Ray suggested, handing his guitar to a trainee guitar technician. I glanced over at Mikey, and when I noticed his face was glowing, I immediately agreed. <br/>"What harm could it be, huh?". </p><p>Turned out to be no harm at all actually, because I was learning some pretty impressive things. </p><p>Vida Muerte had been together for five years, found their fame on the alternative scene instantly and had performed on this tour every year apart from last year. Last year was a dark time for all of them, as Gerard was struggling with admitting he needed to go to rehab for his alcoholism and Mikey was struggling to acknowledge that, lashing out and getting mad. That bit hurt because I learned that he was only a child, only seventeen, when he watched his brother succumb to addiction. <br/>"So you're eighteen?", I asked, and then Frank chimed in when they saw my shocked facial expression. <br/>"Mikes not been in the band since he was thirteen. He joined three years after we started when he was sixteen". <br/>"I was gonna say", I let air come out of my nostrils, "I was at the end of high school when PHP started actually getting gigs and stuff, and even that was too young for me to take the pressure". <br/>"Mikey's strong. He's reserved, yeah, but his actions are more powerful than his words", Gerard beamed. The youngest boy blushed and took a sip out of his water bottle. <br/>"Agua", he gasped. "So necessary".<br/>"Freak", Frank rolled his eyes and downed the last drags of his coffee like he needed it. "Who drinks water?". <br/>"You're really gonna fight me for hydrating, Francis?", Mikey piped up, but before the short boy could spit out what was definitely going to be something along the lines of "don't call me that", I piped in. </p><p>"So, like, can you not have beer near you at all or...", I looked at Gerard with genuine curiosity and was pleased when he wasn't immediately offended. <br/>"Oh hey, no, I can be around alcohol. We just decided not to drink on the bus... just helps, y'know? Less lonely for me". <br/>"It's really for all of us. None of us drink to get drunk, or do drugs, or get involved in any of that shit anymore", Mikey let me know, moving his knee so that it hit mine. For some reason, I froze up at the contact. <br/>"Been cutting out all that toxic party scene shit since the Way's got back to normal", Ray, who had been quite quiet so far, elaborated. "It was a rough time. We were doing hardcore stuff and getting into fights, especially Mikey". <br/>Gerard nodded harshly, "I want to set a good example for our fans. And for Mikes".  <br/>"Gee", the boy groaned, ducking away from his brother's hand to avoid getting his hair ruffled and the top of his head kissed. My heart melted. I shook the stupid grin off of my face and told them that my band wasn't into nightlife either and that we should hang out. </p><p>"I get that. I have a friend whose straightedge, and he's always complaining about feeling left out", I laughed, remembering how Andy busted Joe for pot last month and how he got an overextended lecture on 'what you should and shouldn't put in your body'. (Of course, it ended with Joe saying "what about gays? They put some pretty questionable things into their bodies" and Andy giving an exasperated sigh). </p><p>"How come your tour bus is so fucking small, anyway?" I asked as I peered around, shaking Andy's disappointed father voice out of my head: it was undoubtedly much more compact, much messier and much more rock and roll than ours. Frank answered this one. <br/>"This isn't our first time at the rodeo. It's just us plus our photographer and publicist this year". <br/>"Really?", I gawked, "we have one for the band, but our whole management team is here and they have one that's reminiscent of like... the Taj Mahal". That last, unnecessarily racial comment caused laughter that I bathed proudly in. <br/>"You guys close with your management, then?", Mikey asked. <br/>"The guys vibe with them, but me? Not at all. They're all assholes. They treat me like a baby, so I act like one". </p><p>I ended up staying on the Vida tour bus for hours. Two rounds of guitar hero and three pots of coffee later, it became evident that I was probably not going back to my own band tonight. By eleven, Gerard and Frank had gone off to bed and then at twelve, Ray had also disappeared into the bunks to talk to his girlfriend on the phone.</p><p>"So, Mikes, at the party-".<br/>"Consider it forgotten", Mikey nodded as if he knew what I was going to say, which was a relief because I had absolutely no idea where  I planned to go with this conversation. I also had no idea if the feeling washing over me was relief or disappointment. Maybe tour buzz would kick into overdrive. Who knew.<br/>"I'm not gay", I said. This made him chuckle, listening to my pathetic little statement. "I mean... I don't think I'm fully gay". <br/>"You can take as long as you want to figure these things out, Pete".  <br/>"Yeah... yeah, thanks". </p><p>It should've been awkward from that moment on - any normal person would have felt it - but we had so much in common, chatting away about feelings. I hadn't wanted to openly discuss my feelings in a long, long time. Plus, Mikey Way and I weren't any normal people. Far from it.</p><p>"I just feel so coddled by the other guys all the time", he said. "I turned nineteen three months ago, I know I'm not exactly ancient, but I'm an adult. Life still feels like a fucking dream", he was saying, laying with his head against the back of the sofa cushions. I shuffled down to rest that same way.<br/>"Yeah, I get that. I fucking get that!", I cried, eager to express my opinion. "It's like - life is totally a dream. And I know they're only treating me this way because I'm the youngest, but we all struggle with our mental health! Just because I'm young doesn't mean I'm any less resilient".  <br/>Mikey clapped his hands together to agree, "I mean, you tried to kill yourself. But are you dead? Nope". </p><p>That was an edgy direction for him to steer the conversation with, and I agreed with it wholeheartedly. </p><p>"And Gerard had a drinking problem, but is he passed out in a ditch with a bottle of Smirnoff?", I challenged, causing a grin. <br/>"You're not half bad, Wentz". <br/>"Neither are you, Way".</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. lend an ear and give them just one little chance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The tour buzz finally kicked in at two the next day, right before our set started, right as the sun reached its sweltering peak. </p><p>It was the roaring of the crowds that got me. I could feel their excite vibrating down my spinal cord and I could practically taste my own sweat as I jumped around on the stage and rallied them up and gave my occasional trademark smirk at the cameras. </p><p>The press were very much, well, pressing on our band ever since word leaked that I'd - pause for effective gasp - overdosed. They always wanted to find a negative light  to shine on my situations. </p><p>Thankfully, nothing negative could come out of this. I was on fire, and I'd never felt more alive. In fact, I didn't even feel myself flinch when I rolled my ankle a couple of songs towards the end - I just lay sprawled there on the ground where I'd fallen and completed the set.</p><p>We waved the crowd one final goodbye and I blew a mischievous little kiss as we exited the stage just like management always told me to do, falling into a group hug and then exploding into conversation as we handed all our equipment over to the technicians.<br/>"You were freaking awesome out there, Pete", Patrick wrapped his arms around me and I stumbled backwards a little. Joe tossed me a water bottle. <br/>"What can I say - I've got talent and looks and a personality to die for. Not to mention how humble I am", I said, going over to sit upon an upturned box and take my headset off. I was dripping in sweat and I needed a shower, and also to take off this itchy studded belt Brad had told me to wear: our team were always furiously attempting to keep up my image as the band's resident pretty boy, and it was getting to the point in my life when I just wanted to be authentically me. But if I even dreamed of dying my hair blond or refraining from picking up eyeliner in the mornings, everyone would flip: management, the band, the fans. </p><p>It was the way this industry worked. You had to be spineless when the people in charge had a plan for you, because when it came to chewing you up like a piece of chicken, they would spit you right back out again if you had a bone. So I was the hot one, Patrick was the cute one, Joe was the cool one and Andy was the glue. The boys seemed pretty content in their roles, but mind you, they had no reason not to be, did they? Not when theirs all boiled down to cardigans and crossfit and weed, all things they enjoyed. Hell, if I smiled wrong, Brad was on my ass. "Try and look more rugged, Pete". "Crooked smiles, boy, crooked smiles only".</p><p>"Tranquility Emporium. Never heard that one before", a voice called from the sidelines, pulling me out of the spiral.<br/>"You telling me you're not a super fan of my band's discography?", I smiled up at the lanky boy who simply shrugged and shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets. <br/>"I liked it, it was a totally different vibe that what you generally have and I think that's a bold yet smart choice. It was kinda derivative of Taxi Driver's early stuff, back when they were good, but then Roberto Farelle went and slept with Castree's wife and Taxi Driver turned into a gang of snivley babies. I don't support adultery, but Roberto? He was a man". I just stood there, astonished by questioning how anyone could ever interpret Mikey Way as the quiet one that I almost forgot we were having a conversation. <br/>"As a matter of fact, I've never heard of them", I told him. Mikey's horrified expression said enough. <br/>"You've never...". <br/>"Let's get on that. This instant".</p><p>I was then gripping the boy by the arm and weaving him through the backstage area and dragging him in and out of busses and cars until I got to the tour bus. </p><p>"Taxi driver were an opening band for the most part - don't give me that look! There's such a stigma around opening bands but we all have to start somewhere", Mikey didn't grin a lot, but I saw the glimmer behind his lenses. I laughed.<br/>"Yes, but it's about working up from there". <br/>"You want me to put it up on the television?", he asked, but I profusely shook my head and held up a pair of earphones. <br/>"Everything sounds better in surround sound". <br/>"You're truly something", the tall boy raised an eyebrow and sat down. </p><p>We had to be pretty close to each other to share the headphones but I don't think I minded the physicality. I also didn't mind offering him my last kit kat, or when he stared at me. </p><p>He would be staring at me every time a section of a song he found particularly impressive was coming up, occasionally pausing it to discuss how sick it was. <br/>"You're a big music nerd", I told him. "You're that quirky space geek girl from high school who owns a NASA crop top, but with music", we laughed as I elbowed him a little. He did it back.<br/>"You saying I'm the horse girl of this tour bus, Wentz?", Mikey smirked, and then we just sat in silence, listening.</p><p>I was fucked and my therapist knew it. I wasn't ever going to be one hundred percent alright in the head, and people knew it, which is why they treated me like they did - sure, they meant well, but that alienation got repetitive. </p><p>There are millions of little things that you can do to stop you from floating off into the void like a lifeless, comatose spaceman, like taking up cooking or dancing or joining a cult if that's what's gonna make you happy again. Anything to make you happy. Being sad was always my one fear. Music was always my salvation. </p><p>I looked over at Mikey and I saw someone who was never truly unsatisfied with his life, especially compared to his brother who had changed it up many times. I saw a boy who made me laugh and who made me smile, and who had not once treated me like I was vulnerable in the short time period I'd known him. I saw a friend in Mikey, and I hadn't seen a friend in someone for a very long time. The band were my brothers, everyone was family. This was different. Not more or less, just different. </p><p>It made me happy, because he wasn't a corporate puppet like me; he flashed that rare Mikeyway smile to the world when and how he wanted to. It made it more special when he did. Nothing was a gimmick for him. My entire life was a marketing scheme. </p><p>"Yo, Mikey", I said, a little absent-minded. <br/>"Yeah?".<br/>"Promise never to ask me if I'm alright? Everyone always asks me that".<br/>"I promise", he said with a reassuringly soft tone. "It can be the first rule of our gang". <br/>"Our gang, huh?", I provoked with an eyebrow raised high, to which the taller boy nodded. <br/>"Just us against the world", he added. I nodded my head, coming up with the term 'Sweet little dudes', which I liked because it rolled off my tongue. Mikey was nodding as he repeated it a couple of times. <br/>"I like it", he said. Nothing else. He was so frustrating at times, but I think I liked it. <br/>"That's us. The babied bassists with some serious mental blockages". </p><p>Then we just talked. </p><p>We just spent a solid fifty minutes having what could almost certainly be interpreted as a heart to heart, and it felt fucking amazing to have someone to connect with on this level. </p><p>Somewhere along the line, his phone buzzed so spastically that it was hard to ignore. He sighed and reached over to check it, furrowing his brow. <br/>"Turns out that my band is on the bus and we're having our own private party minus the alcohol, drugs, and scandals of the other ones bound to be happening... because we're sad, sad little sobers". <br/>"Damn Gerard and his addictions stopping you from having fun".<br/>"Pete".<br/>"You wanna go?", I offered, standing up and stretching, my joints cracking in places I didn't think they could. The other boy also rose up, lifting his arms above his head, shirt lifting to show a bony hip. <br/>"Yeah, I guess. I could go. I could stay and listen to some more Taxi Driver, or I could go and socialize". <br/>"Hm", I hummed in mock deliberation. "But wouldn't it be a shame if you didn't go?".<br/>"But wouldn't it be a shame if I did?". </p><p>It took us some hardcore exchanging of convincing looks, but Mikey finally sighed. </p><p>"Okay, okay, I'm going". <br/>"You're gonna leave me alone on the bus?", I asked because I hadn't been left unsupervised for a long period of time in a while. <br/>"You're a big boy, you can handle it", he hummed, and god that felt good.</p><p>Before he left, the tall boy turned around and grabbed my phone out of my hands. <br/>"Password", he demanded. I stuttered a little. <br/>"What?". <br/>"Password", he simply repeated, smirking. <br/>"one two three four", I felt my face go hot as he fiddled around on my phone screen, simply holding it out of my reach every time I tried to sneak a look. <br/>"Please", I grabbed it back and saw that he'd saved a sequence of numbers under the name "mikeyfuckingway".</p><p>None of the letters were capitalized and there was no spacing. That - alongside the expletives - was what made me officially decide, yeah, Mikey was cool. <br/>"I'll text you. Remember who I am", his expression stayed straight, almost like he wasn't kidding, and then he was stepping out into the crisp air. <br/>"Will do, Mikeyway", I watched him leave. "Will fucking do".</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. and i miss you in the june gloom too</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At times, I could be overly thoughtful. </p><p>Last year when Patrick won 'best vocals', I had gone all out to celebrate: hired a limo to take us to the movies, had the driver pick up the most extra bouquet he could find on the way, and ordered everyone to participate in a game named 'make Patrick blush' that I'd so intellectually invented. </p><p>If Andy was running late for a CrossFit session, as he so often was, I'd run to a nearby store for him and spend an eternity looking for his favorite vegan snacks so that his mood would go up when he got back. </p><p>When it was Joe's birthday, I'd taken it upon myself to always get him something Star Wars themed. It had become our little private tradition. Last birthday, two months prior to now, I'd actually managed to bag tickets so that we could all go to the new Star Wars premiere. I even sat through the whole thing without falling asleep just to see the infantile glee on his face. </p><p>Spreading my adoration like it was the plague was a way to prove that I was thankful to be alive, despite everything. </p><p>Mikey and I hadn't spoken. He hadn't text me. So perhaps I forced Andy to pull over at the same gas station I'd originally been to when we were leaving Ohio on Friday, and perhaps I bought three whole packets of those sacred green tea kit-kats, and perhaps I texted Mikey a photo of me with them when I woke up as Sunday morning approached, when we were pulling into a dark parking lot.</p><p>Perhaps the food was a bribe for his company because I'd woken up in the foulest of foul moods. </p><p>It was raining, the weather juxtaposing itself with yesterday, and it was two in the morning, but Mikey still turned up at my bus and I ushered him into the warmth, pointing over at where Andy was crashed out on the sofa and Patrick was on the phone to his wife. </p><p>Mikey's hair was wet and it was sticking awkwardly to his stupidly sharp jaw. </p><p>I could see him looking down at me, stretching so that his already small t-shirt would provocatively rise just above his belly button. His sweatpants were low, and I could see the little trail of hair leading downwards then disappearing disappointingly beneath the fabric. <br/>"You gonna invite me in?", he stated, then almost turned to leave until I found myself gently wrapping my fingers around his slim wrist and closing the bus door behind us. <br/>"You hate me for not texting you?", he spoke again. </p><p>I hated that I wasn't even drunk right now.  </p><p>"Pretty much" I whispered, pulling him indoors. He looked down at me, pausing for so long that I thought he might kiss me, and then he grasped my body into a hug. "A little bit, at least". <br/>"I've been a little bit down". <br/>"Zero necessity". <br/>"Gerard... he drank again. Not a lot, just a beer, but... things have been scary. He broke his sobriety and that's totally out of character, so we all-". <br/>"Seriously. It's okay, Mikes".</p><p>We went behind the screen door and I told him which one my bunk was, whispering because Joe was still fast asleep and snoring ever so slightly. Told myself Mikey was probably only here because he wanted the kit-kats. But maybe he was here because he actually wanted a valuable friendship with me.</p><p>I climbed into the bunk beside him and things suddenly got daringly intimate when the curtains were drawn and we were plunged into darkness, much to the delight of human vampire Mikey Way. </p><p>"Hi", I whispered into the blackness. <br/>"Hey", he whispered back. "You got me kit-kats?". <br/>"Yeah, let me get them for you", I said, voice a little hoarse and uncertain. The other boy instantly picked up on my tone, stopping my arm from reaching towards the small shelf behind us.<br/>"Hey, hey, hey. Calm down, man. The tour buzz is getting to you, I know, I feel it. It's getting to all of us. But just relax, alright? Get me the kit kats later", he said, and I smiled. Because he didn't ask if I was okay. </p><p>There was, somewhere along the line, a nonverbal agreement that we should show each other some more music, so we sat in silence and listened to some old techno band on Mikey's phone. It was coming up to be three in the morning. I stretched out my legs whilst I yawned. <br/>"You tired?", Mikey switched off his phone and everything plunged into peculiar silence. "I can go". <br/>"No, no. Wide awake, Mikeyway", I hissed, turning over to face him. <br/>"Why do you call me that?".<br/>"Because the duke of handsomeness seems a little too formal". </p><p>There was a void where I realized Mikey was obviously thinking, because there were those damn cogs behind his eyes again, and there was that same old glimmer as his hand daringly fell atop of my own. Slowly, I felt our fingers gingerly overlapping. </p><p>I was holding hands with Mikeyway in my bunk at three in the morning, whispering about life as if nothing was out of the ordinary. </p><p>It was most interesting to find out that he was gay. I don't know why, really. I suppose I was just a strong believer in fluid sexuality, so the fact that Mikey was firmly planted in his label was a little baffling.<br/>"I just like who I like. Guys. I can't help it", he'd told me.<br/>"Yeah. Yeah, I get that", I chimed, even though I really didn't: everything I'd ever done with anyone had stayed strictly ambiguous, boy and girl and in between. I had been questioned regarding my sexual orientation during an interview last year and stammered out something about "liking people", so it wasn't that much of a secret that I was fucked up.</p><p>In a way, I think the way my emotions and mentality had blocked me had caused me to spiral because my lack of commitment to anyone was making me lonely.</p><p>"I think I'm gonna miss the June gloom", I stated. "Yeah. I'm gonna miss this". <br/>"Miss that?", Mikey gestured upwards to signify where the rain was hitting the metal roof of the bus. <br/>"I like the sound of the rain". <br/>"You won't miss the rain once you've spent a summer with me. And with the rest of Vida", he told me, but he only added on that last part as an afterthought. </p><p>Like a factory machine now, my head was practically whirring off of its hinges on my neck. Pictures of Mikey were breaking into my mind palace: pale face glowing in the sunlight, bright eyes resembling honey, body dripping with water or sweat or whatever. I didn't care what it was but it was perfection, and I wanted to get my hands on it. </p><p>On the vision of a perfect summer, I mean. Obviously. </p><p>I imagined all the things Vida Muerte and Planet Honey Pop could do together as the only matured bands on the whole of the tour. The majority of this year's lineup were pretentious indie bands or weird, upcoming garage types who lived and breathed Xanax and Molly and Lean, and both our bands had already 'been there done that'. I imaged us hitting up water parks or having movie nights and participating in sleepovers on each other's busses. Perhaps Mikey would let his guard down completely. I felt all warm inside. </p><p>There wasn't really much to look at whilst we were listening because listening didn't tend to heavily involve sight - in the dim light of the screen, I started counting his freckles. The activity occurred from somewhere deep inside my subconscious. The blemishes grew in clusters under the corners of his eyes and across his nose; I calculated twentysix before my vision started to blur a little. </p><p>Mikey could sense that I was staring because he was working extra hard to not look at me. Maybe he liked the attention. Maybe it made him blush. It would've made him blush if he knew that I had the tiniest little crush on him.</p><p>"So you like me, then?", I asked, looking at him. Mikey grasped my shoulder. "Because I'm a guy". <br/>"Pete, course I like you". <br/>"I mean... you like me like that?".<br/>"Go to sleep, Peter", the younger boy whispered patronizingly. But it wasn't a no. He didn't say no.</p><p>The party hadn't been considered forgotten, and we both fucking knew it.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. love is a game we deserve to play out loud</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Before I knew it, the body beside me was groaning almost pornographically and stretching out, rather comically because his legs were already almost touching the wall at the end of my small bunk. </p><p>The second thing I picked up on, besides the fact that it was now light outside and there was some minor shuffling on the bus, was that our hands were still kind of touching - our pinky fingers were interlocked, at least. </p><p>"Did we fall asleep talking?", he mumbled, voice so thick with sleep that it made me feel all soft and stupid. <br/>"I hope so because anyone who intentionally falls asleep in jeans deserves at least capital punishment". <br/>"Capital punishment?", he pulled back the curtain and squinted when we were suddenly doused in light. <br/>"Like... the death penalty", I elaborated and he nodded: Mikey wasn't necessarily stupid but he'd never actually finished high school because of the band. Anyway, I had way too much surface-level intelligence - there was no hiding it. Who else could tell you what kind of steel every coaster at six flags is made out of while simultaneously not be able to do basic algebra? <br/>"Got it. You're like a walking dictionary for all things semi-useless", he proved my point and stood up. "You guys got coffee?".<br/>"Coming out the wazoo", I told the tall boy, who then excused himself to slip off and socialize with my band. </p><p>I lay in the bunk for a couple minutes extra, staring at a part of the comforter that was fraying, going hot when I thought about Mikey standing there in the kitchen with my friends. Would they be talking about me? Would they be talking about us?</p><p>Us meaning Mikey and I, meaning that in the loosest possible sense. </p><p>The fact that I was locking my hands together in an attempt to replicate his warmth was possibly the biggest initial sign that I liked Mikey a little bit more than just platonically. There was no way to stay all loose and stringless like I always had if I did have a big, mushy, genuine crush on the boy. Being labelleless wouldn't cut it. Not for me, not for him. </p><p>I think - and this was after all the thought my attention span would allow - that I wanted to kiss Mikey again. Sober this time. I was rolling in the fear of this unsurprising revelation, scared to show just how I felt because people talked. They talked about my band and they talked about me. They really fucking talked about me. </p><p>Truth is, I didn't mind that Mikey was messing my emotions up and I didn't mind that I could hardly formulate a coherent sentence around him. We were together on so many levels and at the end of the day, we were still pretty much kids. He was nineteen, for God's sake. All of this really brought out the inquiry of whether Mikey would be a bad distraction... or if he'd be the distraction I needed. </p><p>At this moment in time, my heart was leaping. Mikey had agreed to spend the rest of the morning (until his soundcheck at ten) with us. With me. He wanted to stay with me. Mikey way wanted to stay with me and eat kit kats on my tour bus sofa, and he didn't care when I curled into the warmth of his chest, and he nobody questioned it when he ran his fingers through my messy hair. </p><p>"Whatcha thinking about, Mikeyway?", I asked all of a sudden. He looked up from his twitter feed and pushed his glasses further up on his nose. Andy continued with his meal prep and Patrick continued talking to Joe, so it really felt like we were alone. <br/>"Nothing", he lied. <br/>"Are too. I can see the cogs turning". <br/>"What?", Mikey shook his head fondly, "Pete Wentz you are something else. I'm just thinking about things. Let my brain work".  </p><p>I wanted to know what was going on inside his brain at any given moment. Sure, emotions were just a neurochemical con job, but how did Mr tall dark and handsome emote towards me?</p><p>I'd only ever had five crushes, and even they were few and far between: </p><p>- Safire Patel from when I was seven, a girl with long term heart problems that I knew from all the time we had respectively spent in the hospital. She had seen every single episode of sailor moon and was my first introduction to Japanese culture. She cried a lot - I did too. We always sat with each other over in the recreation room, finding comfort in craft, and I was hooked from the day that Safire doodled a regal congregation of pink flowers on me to cover up a bruise that a cannula had left. Hooked until the day that I was discharged. That's childhood love for you. </p><p>- Alec Westwood from camp. Of course, I didn't know I had a crush on him at the time. I was eleven and he was a little older than me - twelve and a half - but miles taller and centuries wiser. He was a free spirit, wild red hair and absolutely covered in freckles, who always dragged me out into the woods on midnight adventures, and though now I'm sure it's entirely unsafe for two young boys to stand in an unfamiliar forest in their pajamas and burn incense and play make-believe, I never felt unsafe. He kissed me cheek when we said goodbye on the last day of camp, and I felt an unfamiliar fluttering sensation. That changed me as a person. It rattled me deeply. </p><p>- then when I was thirteen there the drummer of my first band with Patrick and Joe, Ben Hampton, also known as my first kiss. I had left Patrick's mom's garage to find some bottled water, and Ben followed me into the kitchen, and he kissed me as I was closing the refrigerator door. I'm almost certain I remember exactly what I did; how I didn't hesitate to push his messy hair away from his face and grab him by his scruffy flannel and just kiss him like it was second nature. It was liberating - for me, at least. Ben had himself checked into some conversion therapy camp shortly after, and when we left school he joined 'the crusade to eliminate gender confusion'. Or, 'brainwashed Bible-bashers promoting boring gender norms', as Joe lovingly called it when he got a letter from said crusade telling him that wearing shorts as short as he tended to was a sign of homosexuality. Ha, as if. It was almost ludicrous that Joesph got an angry, personalized letter for his clothing, but I didn't even get so much as an insulting generalized email. Safe to say, Ben forgot about me. </p><p>- I was a huge hormonal mess when I was sixteen, which is where Cherry comes into the picture. She was a pink-haired, sharp-tongued little minx in my French class who was absolutely devoted to Lana Del Ray, and who always wore red lipstick and didn't even put effort into being cool. She just was. Cherry played the bass too so we fell into a routine of hanging out after school - practicing for a half-hour, then spend the rest of the evening lay on her bed watching Disney films or smoking out of her window. She caught me looking at her one day when she was laying down on her bed and her mini skirt had ridden up above where was acceptable. It was her idea to lose our virginities to each other. I was way too enthusiastic about the idea. Course, my dreams of asking her to be my official girlfriend were foiled because after two months straight of us hooking up, Cherry moved states without a logical explanation and we lost contact. I think Cherry Jonson was kind of my "oh shit, girls are cool" moment. </p><p>- followed by an "oh shit, guys are cool too" moment in the form of a barista I knew named Caleb Ackerman in my Senior year. Caleb had long, brown hair and he was always speaking so eloquently about the universe's plans for us all. Caleb was poetry and indie music and eternally neat clothing, and Caleb was definitely not my type, but he was the only person who ever bothered to take a chance on me after the reputation I gained during Junior year. I wasn't a whore, no, but I had whored around, and the only reason I was never pushed out of the closet was because the people I had fooled around with were also in there with me. They were so far in that they were knocking on the door to Narnia.  All of them except Caleb, who actually carried on wanting to make out with me. So that's what we did - we made out, or - on occasion - we snuck off to get handsy in the locker rooms. Considering he ended up being one of those people - the type to use others for their own personal gain - I was more than thankful that we'd never actually gotten round to having sex. </p><p>When Mikey left, Patrick tried to run over some schedule changes with me, but I just couldn't find my head, much to my best friend's concern. It wasn't until I heard Patrick frustratedly say, "Pete, listen, what even is your attention span?", that I was back in the room with a harsh thud.<br/>"About on par with my mental health", I said back without thinking beforehand. "Pat, I've got a crush on someone". <br/>"That's very unusual", my best friend turned his attention completely to me. I sighed before I spoke. <br/>"Well, that's the thing. I like them... I really like them, and that's the difficult part". <br/>"Pete, you've never wanted to be taken care of by anyone", Patrick put a hand on my thigh. "It isn't a weird thing, it's a Wentz thing. She probably really likes you. Why don't you just kiss her?".</p><p>Her.</p><p>"Because I'm scared to... to kiss... her".<br/>"Well then don't be", he simply stated. </p><p>It seemed like half-assed advice but it wasn't: Patrick knew how to handle me better than anyone else did - he knew if I was doubtful, which I was, I should just pretend it wasn't a big deal. Although, he had assumed I was talking about a girl. That hurt me more than it should have.</p><p>So, it was a big deal when I slipped on my vans, found my white jacket and stepped onto the dewy grass. It wasn't a big deal when my legs started up, seeming to comprehend my heart before my head did. </p><p>It only started to be a big deal when I saw him there, wandering around on the stage aimlessly with his bass strung around his shoulder, strumming nonchalantly, flicking his hair wantonly out of his concentrated face. The boy's knees turned into each other and dropped down whenever he hit a hard chord. Then there was the way his slim fingers were playing those chords - fuck, I found my true religion at that moment. </p><p>"Take five, guys. I need a drink", Gerard said down the mic and then coughed as he picked up a bottle from the side of the stage. He collapsed down into the ground and Frank did the same, lying against him and breathing rapidly. Ray jumped off the stage. <br/>"Bathroom break. Anyone need anything?", he looked at his three bandmates. <br/>"Anything. Beer", Frank gasped. Mikey nodded too, then turned to the right. This was my chance.</p><p>It all came together so fast: Gerard telling the band to take five; Frank breathlessly gulping his water, much to Gerard's disapproving look that read "get your own"; Ray asking everyone if they needed a refill; Mikey standing there with his right arm hanging awkwardly at his side, left hand hooked around the elbow, picking at a bit of skin; him nodding to the offer of a beer; him seeing me standing there.</p><p>It wasn't a big deal when we locked eyes. The second he saw me, time was warped into a standstill and we were the only two mobile people on the planet. And then Mikey was walking towards me, peering behind him to make sure there was nobody following his movement. </p><p>It was a big deal when I put my clammy hand on the back of Mikey's neck and perched up on my toes so that I was at mouth level. It was certainly an enormous deal when our lips were inches apart. </p><p>"Pete, I-". </p><p>My heart just about stopped when they pressed together.</p><p>I had five crushed before now. Three of them ended fine. Two of them changed me as a person. Personally, I believed that the odds were ever in my favour.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. waiting a lifetime</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"... fuck", Mikey gasped and pulled away. </p><p>I'd really fucked it over now. I'd have to spend the rest of my summer all lonely and heartbroken and repetitive. </p><p>"Pete... come here", the taller boy gripped my wrist and pulled me behind a large amplifier and a barricade of miscellaneous crates, then proved my inner thoughts wrong by stooping down to kiss me again. When Mikey opened his mouth I deepened the kiss with every ounce of desperation I had in my body, so passionate that he staggered backward a little. </p><p>I could've been kissing him for hours. Days, even. Nothing mattered: nothing except my needy hand running through his soft hair or his longing fingers grazing against my own. </p><p>Restless leg syndrome that was synonymous to my existence must have consumed my entire shaking mess of a body. You know that jelly legged feeling when you've been riding rollercoasters all day and you sit down in a car afterward? That was me but intensified by six thousand. </p><p>It wasn't totally familiar, but Mikey didn't taste foreign either. I realized now that, without alcohol in our systems, he tasted like he smelt: like coffee and a little bit of sugar, but not too much. It was hard for me to imagine that these soft lips had once been subject to any kind of toxicity because they tasted like God had crafted them himself. I even found those pathetic noises of desperation occurring in the back of my throat. </p><p>"Do you think we should stop?", I asked, breaking away from his warmth reluctantly and peering round. We were stalking the shadows like vampires right now; there was no way any band member or technician could see us. They might've been able to hear us if we went careful though. <br/>"Do you want to?".<br/>"God, no", I basically dived back into action, gripping at either side of his face so that I could really get a taste of Mikey, running my tongue over the roof of his mouth, bringing myself in closer when he dug his nails into the fabric covering my lower back. This was different. It was open-mouthed and dirty, and Mikey's hips were sharply pressing me into the wall behind us. It sort of hurt. I sort of liked it.</p><p>He broke us apart this time. </p><p>"So, I should... go... and I promised the guys I'd go out and grab a meal with them after our set tonight", Mikey lifted an arm to fix his hair. "But can we hang?".<br/>"You wanna hang? With me?". <br/>"Course I do", he smiled at the ground bashfully, and I swear down that at that moment I fell even deeper because his rare smile was godly. It was a high I knew I'd have to keep chasing. "Can you hang on the Vida bus tonight? I feel like we have a lot to talk about". I nodded, thanking God that we were in this state for two days as opposed to one because the thought of traveling on a highway with these butterflies inside of me was nauseating. <br/>"Okay, alright. I'll text you when I'm back". </p><p>Part of me knew I should've slipped a hand through his belt loops and kissed him hard before he vacated back into the publicity that was the last few minutes of his soundcheck - just enjoy Mikey from the privacy of our own personal amplifier castle. I couldn't, though. He'd quite literally slipped through my fingers. </p><p>I spent a couple of seconds secretly peering from backstage and only shrunk back down the steps and out of view once Frank caught Mikey and I exchanging a cheesy kind of look. </p><p>I just wanted to relive it over and over and over again. </p><p>I wanted the kiss to replay on the inside of my chemically imbalanced brain, flickering on a pull-down screen like an old monochrome film would do. That would be a movie I wouldn't fall asleep during. </p><p>Or maybe I would. Maybe when I shut my eyes tonight I'd only be able to coax myself into dozing off by watching that moment loop in my mind. Maybe I'd go to sleep with my hand being held again. </p><p>So how would I describe this crush, if I was sure that was what it was? I think this crush was number six, Mikey Way, a tour secret who was all things good about the summer: loyal friendships, photo-captured memories, poems, sugar rush and living authentically. </p><p>I almost felt sick when it was time for me to go hang out with him later on, but I settled as soon as I saw him again. In the sporadic light of the television screen, Mikey was hunched over a sketch pad with a pencil gripped in his left hand and a rubber in his right. He was left-handed, which was weird because he played the bass with his right.</p><p>I had my back pressed against the arm of the sofa and my feet tucked beneath his crossed legs for warmth, pretending to watch the movie but only really tuning in on it every few minutes. I was much too happy watching Mikey and zoning out. </p><p>I could hardly hear whatever it was that we were allegedly watching anyway, because Ray and Frank has started up a gleefully childish debate upon the logistics of said movie, only to be shut down by self-proclaimed film expert Gerard, who handed me the popcorn bowl and said, "band member dynamics, huh?". I took a handful of the buttered snack and exhaled through my nose to signify a laugh as I ate.</p><p>Mikey was still ignoring everybody completely, drawing with a precision that made his tongue stick out in determination. His hair was falling into his face but he didn't even pull it back. He had hardly said a word to me since I arrived, just mumbled a soft hello.</p><p>I noticed now that he had switched to using his right hand and came to the conclusion that he was ambidextrous. Why'd he always find the perfect middle balance of everything? He was ambiverted too.  </p><p>What was most captivating about watching him draw wasn't his state of tranquility. It was the fact that it was completely unexpected, but also that it shouldn't have been so completely unexpected. Everyone had always taken Gerard to be the arty one but had never taken into consideration that Gerard Way and Mikey Way were, obviously, blood-related. They had the exact same lopsided smile and slight Jersey twang, same eyebrow shape and same gentle yet somehow also badass demeanor. </p><p>Nobody really assumed Mikey could draw. They also never thought about how he could sing like his older brother or about how Gerard had his younger brother's nervous blush, but I assumed and I noticed and I had evidence to back me up. I had heard Mikey carry a tune expertly under his breath when he was in the bathroom earlier. I had seen the bashful look on Gerard's face when I told him he looked nice. </p><p>So Mikey could draw. Had Mikey drawn me? Had he drawn me now in the secrecy of the shadowed tour bus or had he drawn me before? Did Mikey think it was a big deal when he held my hand? Did he want to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss him right now? </p><p>I nudged him with my toe when he finally folded his sketchpad shut and placed it on the small shelf behind the sofa, swapping it for a tattered old grey blanket. <br/>"You cold?", he grinned and moved his body away from my nudge. I nodded, watching him unfold the fabric and drape it around his shoulders. He patted his lap. </p><p>My head fit on his thigh like it had been invented with the purpose of being my pillow in mind.</p><p>I was finally beginning to understand the film plot until Mikey pulled me out of my concentration and sent my head spinning again as if he'd just hit me with a banana skin on Mario kart.<br/>"Cold hands, Wentz. Here-", he whispered, and his brother was probably watching as he slipped my hand on the upside of his shirt and giggled. I couldn't help but laugh too, letting out some kind of pathetic snort as I traced out the feeling of his ribs but didn't dare go any further than that. Gerard was always watching us. He never said anything, though. Not even now. Not even when he got up to refill everyone's glasses and got a clear shot of Mikey and I, and it became all too evident why we couldn't suppress our smiles.</p><p>Gerard simply just smiled when he caught my eye.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. i’ve got a bulletproof heart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I'd always adored the colour yellow as a child: when I was ten some kids in my class and I were discussing our favourite colours and I just so happened to decide on yellow. Because hey, big bird was fucking yellow, and the 'M' at McDonald's was yellow, and both of those things made me happy. </p><p>So it was yellow. I had yellow shirts and yellow sneakers and if my mom hadn't had wholeheartedly disapproved, I would've had a canary yellow bedroom. It was my comfort colour for quite a few years, especially when my grandma died. Then it was just mom and I for a while, and we'd curl up and watch romantic comedies to cheer ourselves up, her loud laughter and the way her face lit up always reminded me of that yellow kind of happiness. </p><p>Yellow sort of changed for me after my overdose. The hospital room was lazily painted that colour and it suddenly morphed into something I found the opposite of comfort in. My mindset me back two years whenever I saw it and suddenly I could feel nausea back in my stomach, see the frantic blinking of ambulance lights, hear my mom and Patrick crying to each other night after night when they thought I was sleeping. </p><p>Well, that was until now. </p><p>I looked into Mikey's eyes and yellow was my favourite colour again - gold, actually. Golden brown like hot whiskey that warmed my stomach. I revelled in the way they would flicker as they caught the low July sun, basking in their glory, perhaps even shrinking back in awe at times. I'd always had a bit of a soft spot for brown eyes.  </p><p>The television was flickering black and white as it rolled through the credits and everyone had shuffled off to bed. Everyone but Mikey, who was still wrapped in the blanket with me, my hand no longer on the underneath of his shirt but secretly yearning to be. I felt him move his legs (which was inconsiderate because they were underneath my head), so I sat up. <br/>"Hey, Mikeyway. You in a rush to get somewhere?", I asked, and that's when his eyes melted me into a puddle. So hopeful and mischievous with a dash of youthful innocence and millions of miles away from the shy Mikey that the rest of the world seemed to see. We hesitated for a minute, sitting in slight awkwardness for the first time all summer because we'd crossed the line before we'd even lay one down earlier today.</p><p>"You wanna... y'know...?". <br/>"Oh, I mean-".<br/>"If you... because I want to". <br/>"Yeah", I exhaled and at last, Mikey crashed into me, kissing me again. Except it was different this time. This time it was sexual. It was lustful and hot and he had his hand on my crotch. Mine were gripping his back and pulling him into me. </p><p>Thinking about it, Mikey was young- he was a kid - but he was so adult and passionate already, matured like the most prestigious of wines. His soft, cold finger tracing down my jaw had me mumbling, "I'm not gay" unintelligibly. He scoffed. <br/>"Seems pretty gay". <br/>"I'm- I'm not fully gay. I don't think, but...", I paused so that I could messily kiss him, "but shit, I want you so bad and I've only felt like this with two or three guys before and I... I don't know how you're doing this to me". <br/>"Not fully gay? You've had sex with guys, though?".<br/>I sort of shrunk backwards, not used to being the shy one. "I don't know, Mikyway. Something is different about this crush I have on you".</p><p>I was already half-hard against his leg and Mikey made a sweet little noise against my mouth when I lifted my knee because it just so happened to press against the part of his jeans that were suspiciously tightening. </p><p>"So you're a virgin?", he smirked, realising that he could corrupt me there and then if he wanted to. I had to hope that Mikey had at least some human decency. Pray that he wouldn't tease me too much. <br/>"No, I've fucked people, but...". <br/>"But you're too awkward to talk about it?".  <br/>"But nothing", I said coldly, and Mikey scrunched up his face. I sighed. "I'm used to having sex with girls. I've been with guys but i’ve never really broadcast that to the world".<br/>"I've only had sex with one person", he said, smiling sympathetically. "I've been out since I was fifteen or sixteen. Yeah, I'm loved unconditionally, but it's hard in this industry because our old management team gave me shit about it at first, but now that everyone knows it's almost something nobody talks about. Nobody obsesses over it like they used to, they just think of me as Mikey, not as 'the queer one' or whatever. I'm still not allowed to come out publicly but... smart people tend to assume stuff correctly, so it's not like I'm completely closeted".<br/>"So what are you saying?".<br/>"Nothing and everything, I guess. It pisses me off when you say you're not gay. It makes it seem like there's something wrong with it, and I think that's why I'm not one hundred percent myself around you".<br/>"But there isn't", I shook my head almost haphazardly, "anything wrong with it... I... when I was eighteen, there was this guy, but he... he wasn't a good match. I've hated it and oppressed it for so long... I know I'm bisexual, but I just don't know how to be". <br/>"But you want to learn? Learn everything there is to it?", the younger boy asked. <br/>"Yeah, yes, I do. I want you to show- fuck. Hot, Mikey. That's hot", I whispered like a dumbass, gripping at his hips now because he had started grinding against me, and fuck that was good. Rolling my hips up in motion with him was really fucking good and slightly embarrassing to dwell on because it can't have looked as good as it felt.</p><p>"There. Stay there", he groaned and shuffled around a little. My head was spinning and there was a sharp pain on the underside of my brow bone but I blocked it out and focused on the boy who was straddling my thigh and planting sloppy kisses on my lips and letting me play with his hair. It was so thick and that gorgeous kind of smooth where you could run your fingers through with ease and watch the locks flop back down into their permanently perfect shape. He didn't even care when I fucked up whatever symmetry he had going on, rolling his eyes back then slamming them shut with a little satisfied grunt.</p><p>This wasn't a normal type of perfect. No, it was far from it - his glasses were kind of askew because he'd forgotten to take them off in the spontaneity of it all and we were still wearing our clothes - but we were breathless nonetheless so I'd give us that. </p><p>We definitely didn't hear a door open or expect to have to break apart and guilty look at a slightly confused, very amused Frank. <br/>"Mikey, I...", he grinned and rubbed at the nape of his neck somewhat awkwardly. "Let me guess - it's not what it looks like?". </p><p>What wasn't what it looked like? I'd only known Frank for a few days but if he thought that Mikey and I both half-hard and groaning against each other could be explained with something platonic then he was really idiotic. I never really expected that kind of blatantly ignorant energy from him. From Gerard, maybe, since Gerard had been turning a blind eye to all of the little clues that Mikey and I had accidentally dropped. </p><p>"Oh no, it's most likely pretty much exactly what it looks like", Mikey sighed and stared up at the metal ceiling as if he was trying to plan an escape route. "You do remember me coming out, right? You cried, I told you to stop being such a pussy-".<br/>"I meant I didn't know you and Pete were-".<br/>"I'm right here", I groaned from where I was still pinned beneath the boy's bony hips. <br/>Mikey rolled his eyes, "yeah, shortstack, we see that. Listen, Frank, can you just...".<br/>"Yeah, yeah", he raised his hands guilty. "I'll go back to bed. Sorry for intruding". </p><p>The dark-haired boy made his way back towards the screen door and I realised somewhere along the line that he was shirtless and holding a ceramic mug; the poor boy had only been on an unsuccessful midnight coffee run, so it seemed. </p><p>"We'll talk tomorrow", Mikey promised him, and with one last look that was nothing less than concerned brother figure, Frank nodded and disappeared out of sight again. Mikey relaxed, his body sliding down and making it so that he was beside me with his forehead against mine, and making it so that I no longer felt any friction. I cringed at the sudden lack of pressure. </p><p>"I'm so sorry about that", he giggled innocently as if he hadn't just jumped my bones a few minutes ago. He looked innocent too, and distracted, twiddling with the key that was still hanging from a silver chain around my neck. <br/>"It's... is frank gonna tell anyone?". <br/>"With me keeping the secret that he's gonna propose to my brother on Christmas Eve? I'd like to see him try", Mikey showed that he was willing to hold that blackmail above his band mate's head. <br/>"I didn't know that they were a thing", my jaw dropped. Mikey groaned. <br/>"You're so unobservant. Dude, they were middle school sweethearts, been together since they were thirteen. They're inseparable".<br/>"Do you think... people will just kind of know about me and you? Like you said they just... assume things?", I asked. "Because honestly, I have some stuff to figure out before the whole world knows I'm doing one of the Way brothers". <br/>"Don't rush", Mikey told me. "You've got an entire summer to figure out if you like girls at all or if you just like guys more or whatever. Who cares what people think?". </p><p>His voice had kind of settled me a little, and I tested the boundaries by kissing him gently.</p><p>"So is this you being one hundred percent yourself around me?". <br/>"Depends. You straight?".<br/>"Like spaghetti", I mocked, and Mikey beamed. He fucking beamed. That gesture was him telling me I'd unlocked the full Mikey Way experience, and I hadn't felt this included since the popular kids picked me for their softball team in freshman year of high school. </p><p>The boy blinked his thick eyelashes at me for a minute, staring at me with his curious eyes, and then he leaned forward. And then we were kissing again. </p><p>"I didn't know you could draw", I interrupted. <br/>"Be quiet, dumbass", he whispered. Now Mikey Way was kissing me: he was letting me pull him close and he was messing with my keychain and he was fucking kissing me. I could've died getting caught up in that moment, and I didn't even need the aid of an overdose.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. wouldn’t it be great if we were dead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When I woke up on the Vida tour bus, I took the first three seconds of my consciousness to figure out when exactly I'd fallen asleep. I also had to listen out to wake up because, in my disoriented confusion, I mistook the bathroom fan for the engine and assumed we were rolling from one dark parking lot to another. No, Pete, same state as yesterday. Nice try.</p><p>I began to weakly remember last night and how Mikey had giggled with the innocence of a child and asked me what tattoos I had because he'd 'wanted to see them close up for a while now', and then my shirt was off. After I'd shown him the bat tattoo above my pelvis and the purple wave encased in a circle on my forearm, he had asked what else I wanted.</p><p>"I'm kinda scared of needles, actually", I admit to him. "I want a keep on keeping on one, though".<br/>"What's that, shortstack?".<br/>"My suicide prevention thing. I set it up after I tried to... kill myself. You know", I said and he inhaled with slight nervousness because fucking hell, I'd never said that so nonchalantly before. I felt comfortable with Mikey.<br/>"Oh", he's said, then his eyes lit up and he grabbed my wristband. "This! It's... I get it now. It's weird because I'd always wondered".</p><p>I twisted the band round my slim wrist now and sat up reluctantly, instantly feeling Mikey's warmth slip away from me when I detached his arms from around my middle. I could literally hear the guys ribbing me for this if they found out. 'Oh, ha ha, Pete's the little spoon'. Well, liking what I like didn't make me a bitch. I pulled my shirt on roughly: the pattern was not visible and the tag was at the front, but I couldn't have cared less.</p><p>It was then that my mind deciphered the sound of the bathroom door clicking open, squeaking on its hinges and revealing a tired-looking Frank. </p><p>"Jesus, you're like a popup book from hell", I whispered, moving my legs so that he could sit beside me. He groaned, his Adam's apple moving beneath the stubble he had going on. <br/>"Thank you. Early. Gerard snores and I love him but I love sleep too". <br/>"I get that", I grinned and became attentive towards Mikey who coughed in his sleep and then spluttered a little as he sat up, coming to be with sleepy expression and morning voice that made my heart flip.<br/>"Morning, princess", I couldn't help but smile, watching him rub his eyes and wave at us both with his long fingers.<br/>"Sorry if we woke you, Mikes", Frank let out one of his nervous giggles laced with genuine fear: although Frank was a brother figure to Mikey, and Mikey was the baby of the group, Frank was terrified of what Mikey would do to him when crossed. Frank Iero, a very vertically challenged and ticklish man, was not a huge fan of being pushed over and tickled, as I'd learned after an epic guitar hero defeat.</p><p>More than just relief came when the youngest boy muttered a tired, "It's all good, Frankie", and sat up. He instantly grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around himself like a shrug or a shawl or something and I held in laughter as to not tease a very moody Michael James.<br/>"Cold", he grabbed his crumpled shirt from underneath himself and then stood, twisting to allow his back to crack with satisfaction. "Won't be long. Warm shower, then coffee". <br/>"Such a morning person", I teased and he rolled his eyes when he leaned in to kiss me. </p><p>He actually kissed me on the forehead, all warm and familial. When Frank was here. But then again, Frank had witnessed us last night, so I suppose Mikey had taken that into consideration. As always, I was overthinking.  </p><p>Crap, Frank and I were alone in the room and the tension was almost creating some kind of thick smog that he cut by smiling at me. </p><p>"You smoke?", he asked when he stood up. I shrugged my shoulders, lazily. <br/>"On occasion". <br/>"A cigarette habit is genuinely a yes or no question, Wentz".  <br/>"Yes or no questions are just a construct. Shall we?", I gestured outside with a smirk and the boy shook his head. <br/>"You can share with me, then. I'm supposed to be quitting but sometimes there are habits you just can't kick". <br/>"I'll drink to that".</p><p>Normally the grass was Dewey and shining with the glossy condensation catching on the low morning sun, or so it had been throughout early June. Now it was actually warm. Pre-ten AM warm which was my favorite kind because you could sit at the little plastic table and chairs without the sun rays burning your skin off. I was looking forward to July, especially the antics that would come with it when it was in full swing. </p><p>Frank reached into his pocket and took out his cigarettes and a white lighter. I wondered how many people had died by melting of the skin. </p><p>"I get it", Frank said. I literally almost thought he was reading my mind and understood what was going on inside of there, which would've been cool and weird and revolutionary. Then the boy took a drag, was silent for a second, and I understood. "I get that you like Mikey". That was also weird and cool and revolutionary, perhaps even more so. </p><p>"As if it wasn't obvious enough", I went hot. <br/>"Wentz, I-", the boy sighed and corrected himself. "Pete, I have nothing against you liking one of the Way brothers, I mean it was bound to happen because they're like, part veela or something. They're attractive. Believe me, I'm glad it's not Gerard... and I like you, so". I laughed, wondering how the whole parking lot of bands didn't hear me. <br/>"Mikey and I hooked up at the party. We like... we didn't have sex or anything but there was other stuff. This thing we've got only started a few days ago, and it feels so different because we're not drunk. It's... it's new. But I just want to be with him, like, constantly".  <br/>"I get it", Frank stated again, handing me the last half of his cigarette and tilting his head back. "Gerard is so fucking sexy and like, wicked smart, and sure we've had our ups and downs but I fucking love that boy. He's got me hooked and he's kept me hooked for so long, I don't understand it. It's a Way thing. They're all fucking gorgeous". <br/>"All?".<br/>"Ah yeah, Mikey's got five other siblings. Like, besides Gerard", Frank watched my shocked face and laughed warmly. "He doesn't like to tell people, don't be offended. He's the middle child so he's got that complex where he just wants to be as individual as possible".</p><p>Maybe I didn't know Mikey as well as I thought I had, and maybe for some sick reason, that was reassuring. Whatever. My head didn't want to put all that on me at that current moment. I had to finish the cigarette before I could reply because I felt I needed some nicotine courage. When I stubbed it out into the old ashtray in the middle of us - that's when I found my words. </p><p>"Mikey is so innocent", I had been taking a long drag as I thought this sentence over, protected by being occupied. Now the cigarette was crumpled and gone and I had nothing to barricade my mouth from spilling the innermost depths of my soul. </p><p>Mikey, innocent. </p><p>Mikey, who managed to stay innocent even when he had his hand on my dick and his tongue in my mouth. It was something about his eyes, something sappy and gay like that because the way they glimmered left me feeling so tranquil. "Yeah... Mikey is so innocent. But like, he just radiates this fucking ultraviolet sexuality. Whenever I look at him it's just like - fuck, I'm first place in Mario Kart and the guy behind me has a red shell, you know?".</p><p>Somehow, he knew. God knows how he knew. </p><p>"And he's got an aura about him that's just so... so perfectly Mikey".<br/>"Like... he goes from never smiling or talking to grinning like a lovesick puppydog and rambling nonstop?".<br/>"Yep, that's it", I shook my head fondly at the thought of him. "But... don't tell anyone about us, though. If someone... if Gerard finds out, I don't know what I'll do". <br/>"Oh, this news will not come from me, Pete. Not to Gerard. Unless it comes straight from the horse's mouth he'll explode. Mikey's gonna have fun explaining how he's banging - or being banged by - a bassist. Bassists and guitarists are dirty". <br/>"You're one, though". <br/>"Hence why Gerard knows what they can be like", Frank smirked, "but he certainly doesn't want that for his baby brother". <br/>"Well, he's got nothing to worry about with me. I'm not much of the sex expert". </p><p>Frank and I sat in silence for a little bit longer, me wondering why this lack of conversation wasn't as awkward as I would've expected it to be. </p><p>"I don't know how the fuck to get a guy off", I suddenly burst out, and Frank almost literally fell off of his little plastic stool. <br/>"Come on, you're Pete Wentz, you've done stuff with guys... right?", Frank looked at me. I must have turned my head away oddly because he gasped. "Pete, you've never...".<br/>"Obviously I've kissed guys. That's how you figure out you like it, right? But I'm not... my gay streak in high school was always sort of... I got a couple of blowjobs from half the football team because they're always the most internally homophobic, and then there was this guy who I hooked up with for a while". <br/>"So you two must've done something", Frank was still really bewildered by my lack of experience. <br/>"I mean... we had sex-".<br/>"Aha!". <br/>"But eventually  he asked to fuck me, not the other way round... and I didn't, that was out of my comfort zone. That felt too 'all the way gay', you know? Like that felt more dangerous than just fooling around to figure out what you like. It felt like deciding what you like and then committing to it". <br/>Frank nodded, "so you've never really been with a guy in that way?". <br/>"Just quick encounters, really", I nodded back.  <br/>"Plus whatever you did to Mikey at the party, which I do not want to know about". <br/>"I thought I'd lost interest in girls for a while. I used to kiss them but I thought it was just to hide the fact that I wanted to kiss boys. Then I figured out I could kiss both because fuck it. When the band got bigger I just stopped dating altogether. That way, nobody got hurt", I shared, using way too much hand movement to overcompensate for the horrible topic. "And obviously I don't want to... to treat Mikey like that. He's beautiful. He's different. When we have sex - if we even do - I want to make sure we both like it".  </p><p>It was true: I didn't want to treat him like any of the meaningless encounters I'd endured while battling my internalized homophobia. I wanted to love him. With time, I thought, I probably could love him. I'd spent so long telling myself that I wasn't gay, but now - with Mikey - that was what felt right. </p><p>"Guys are different. They've got cocks, for starters", Frank shuffled his chair closer and looked around, lowering his voice. "Alright, alright - anything you'd do to yourself, or want to be done to you, just... do to the guy". <br/>"Even...", I made a crude gesture with my fingers and then shook off the feeling of God shunning me. Frank smiled and uttered a soft, "In the ass, Pete", very matter-of-factly. "But just... don't rush things with Mikey, okay, he's pretty insecure about his body and he's not exactly a sex expert either".<br/>"Thanks, yeah, I will", I held in the burning urge to say sexpert because it was definitely an inappropriate time to make a (terrible) joke. </p><p>My closed fist bumped against Frank's own as a way of showing our respect to each other, just like the heterosexual white men did. I laughed: we weren't heterosexual, nor entirely white, and we were hardly men - it seemed wrong. </p><p>"Maybe it'd be easier if we were ghosts", I nodded. Frank looked at me funny. <br/>"Dead?". <br/>"Or ghosts. Invisibility and shit".<br/>"I see why Mikey talks about you, Pete", Frank smiled. "All the fucking time". <br/>"Yeah?", I felt my mouth twitch up. </p><p>As if on cue, the lanky boy poked his head around the open door of the tour bus and smiled, clearly refreshed and a lot more alive after his shower. He was clutching a steaming cup of what I rightfully assumed was coffee, and his hair was dripping against his face. <br/>"Pete. Can we grab dinner tonight?".<br/>"Oh, I- yeah, yes. Definitely. My set should be finished by nine... the boys and I were gonna swing by some other stages for a while but I can slip away for food and good company". <br/>"Okay, cool. It's a date", he pushed his glasses onto his face.</p><p>And my stomach fucking flipped.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. truth is now acceptable</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When I decided to come out to Patrick, I had plenty of reasoning behind it. </p><p>One of the predominant factors was that he was my best friend in the universe, and his encouragement earlier on on the tour had actually acted as a catalyst for Mikey and I. I also just knew he knew. Patrick, since we were kids, had had this habit of hyper analysing every inconsistency in every day life. Mikey and I being involved wasn't exactly normal, but it wasn't exactly a secret at this point. Perhaps, just like all the best things in life, Mikey was a worst kept secret. My worst kept secret. </p><p>At this point, despite secret-keeping being a very sexy thing, I wanted to scream from the fucking rooftops that, implicitly, Mikey Way was mine and that I was Mikey Way's. I'd taken to scribbling scrawl down his arms whenever we were laying together. Normally the terms I'd write would be petty insults, just low blows like 'easy' and 'fucked'. When he went and played a show with 'peter pan' scribbled down there, though, people caught onto something pretty fast. </p><p>So people knew. And I didn't care. Who were people to judge anyway? Fans loved me, family loved me, friends loved me. Somebody with a hatred for me wouldn't bother to be that observant. </p><p>I didn't care because, for the past few days, we'd been sharing things like a little old married couple: I was forever wearing his glasses or his old band tees, and he'd taken one of my trademark hoodies with no intention of returning it. Most importantly, Mikey had been wearing my Keep On Keeping On bracelet - the one from around my wrist that I hadn't taken off since I set up my suicide prevention company. I trusted him with it, and I was right to do so because whenever he thought I wasn't looking he would lovingly twist it round in circles with his slim fingers. </p><p>I also didn't care because I was in my own little bubble at the moment: I felt as if Mikey and I were some enlightened species who were on a whole other plane of existentialism just because we were making out all the time. The gorgeous bassist had allowed his sexual confidence to grow and although my face wasn't complaining, another part of my anatomy was, because Mikey had the worst possible timing - and it was purposeful. </p><p>When PHP and Vida ate dinner together on the Vida bus the other day, Mikey and I had been put on washing up duty, and he kept touching me up to the point where we were eye-fucking each other out in the open, surrounded by all our friends. I had to stop myself from doing something. </p><p>He got off knowing I couldn't. </p><p>Patrick was cross-legged on the blue laminate, me sitting across from him and letting my mind stir under the yellow bathroom lighting. My fear was covered up by the potent smell of a dollar tub of black nail vanish I'd found at the bottom of my suitcase. Patrick was looking down at my nails - he'd always painted them for me because I was never quite good at much - and I took the opportunity to speak. Because he had to focus, it meant he couldn't look me in the eyes. At least not yet. And that made it easier. </p><p>"I have to tell you something, Patrick", I cautiously swallowed the large knot in my throat. He raised an eyebrow but thankfully didn't look up. <br/>"Oh?". Shit. His tone. He knew what was coming. <br/>"Yeah", I sighed and stared up at the ceiling for a moment, just seeing if there was any possible way I could eject myself into the atmosphere and never come back. "You see... remember when I said I liked someone, and that I should just kiss her?".<br/>"You didn't, did you?".<br/>"I... I did, actually. And we're kind of... well, we're not together. We're casual", I said, blowing on my right hand when he switched to doing my left. "Thing is, she's actually a he". </p><p>Patrick looked up now, momentarily, just to raise his eyebrow. </p><p>"She was never a she. She was always Mikey", I stated. "Thing is... Mikey's a guy". <br/>"You don't say". <br/>"I just mean... it's so different, Pat. I love the way he's not afraid to be himself", I felt my chest tighten as my heart skipped a pivotal beat. "That's why I'm officially coming out as bisexual or whatever. I like guys and I like girls. I know everyone was already assuming that I was because of what I've said about 'liking people', but every time I even think about... it's been to try and... I mean, it's just felt...".<br/>"Wrong?". <br/>"Yeah", I nodded, voice breaking unintentionally. "Until now. Now with guys - with a guy - everything feels like it's how it should be". </p><p>My best friend placed the pot down on the edge of the tiny bathtub, leaning in and wrapping his arms around me. It was a weird hug because I had to stick my arms out like a T-Rex due to the wet nails, but the sentiment was obviously there. The message had been put across loud and clear. </p><p>"You probably don't want a cheesy statement about how proud I am", he whispered, reluctantly letting go. My eyes were welling up a little so I wiped them harshly. <br/>"Consider it intended", my voice came out all warped and croaky, as if I was going to burst into tears at any moment. "Bro, I love you". </p><p>And he didn't say it back. Instead, he whispered: </p><p>"So like... up the ass?". </p><p>"Jesus Christ!", I looked around, making sure nobody was lurking at the ajar door. "No, if you must know, I haven't gotten round to that aspect of my friendship with him yes". <br/>"Was Mikey the first one?". <br/>"Mike's my first for a lot of things: first guy I've hooked up with on a tour bus, for example", I said, and Patrick squirmed a little. I laughed. "And I guess the smaller things. First person to give me a tour buzz. First person I ever went on a diner date with or fell asleep next to in my bunk. But if what you're asking is... well in terms of like... same-sex experimentation, he won't be my first. I made out with half the football team in junior year". <br/>"That was you?", Patrick's jaw hit the floor and I laughed a bit. <br/>"Man, good times", I grinned, almost a little too gleefully. "Then I shacked up with this one guy in senior year. That barista".<br/>"You took it up the ass from the guy who helped me pass literature?", his voice was hardly a whisper now, and I was stifling laughter.<br/>“No... god, Patrick, I have never and will never be a receiver. I'm Pete fucking Wentz! Wipe that image away". <br/>"You? Dominant?", he snorted and I smacked his teasing hands away from me as I felt a furiously red blush spread across my face. "So are you gonna tell your family? You know, when we go to Chicago?".<br/>"When's that?". <br/>"Fourth of July weekend, obviously. She's throwing the annual shindig", he said, and something in my chest knotted tightly at the thought of ruining my mom's party. <br/>"Oh yeah. Maybe not", I shook my head feverishly and Patrick just nodded.<br/>"It's chill". </p><p>I think, in a way, Patrick was actually the first boy I ever fell in love with. I'd never have realized it at the time because we were best friends nearly our whole lives. </p><p>Actually, when we first met, but he was still this tiny, chubby, cripplingly shy kid who took pity on the weird kid with scruffy hair and dirty target shoes. Pat used to make me smile when the rest of my life felt like it was going to shit. He told me secrets, and I told him secrets. Yeah, I was definitely in love with Patrick - he was my best friend. </p><p>"When I was with your sister... when I came to see you in the hospital", he took a deep breath, his chest moving upwards dramatically. I gulped too, swallowing a knot. "She - no, we - thought you were going to die. She said she didn't think you'd make it to twenty seven, but we never expected you to be that far off. You were so young, I-", his voice cracked. Genuine pain in the remembrance. <br/>"Patrick, I'm so sorry that I've ever scared you, I was so lost and-". <br/>"No, Pete, no, it's just - we've all seen the way Mikey looks at you, and we've all seen the way you look at him back. You don't like that kid, you love him. You're going to get to twenty seven and you're gonna get there with him", he pulled me close again, and I didn't care about smudging my nails anymore. I just cared about embracing my best friend. </p><p>The door creaked open tentatively and Joe poked his head around the corner, pushing his curls away where they were falling into his eyes. <br/>"Hey, I was gonna come to use the bathroom but I... overheard some stuff. Pete... are you...".<br/>"Is Andy out there?", I asked and Joe nodded, turning his body and shouting Andy to join the group. Pat looked at me with a worried expression as people so often did, but I patted his leg. </p><p>Andy joined Joe in the small doorway now, gripping a bottle of water, and I felt like this was the first time we'd all been together during the entire tour. I didn't regret a second of getting to know Mikey, but I also missed my brothers. </p><p>"Joe, Andy, I was just telling Patrick something important but I didn't want to leave you two out", I said, and Patrick let himself breathe. He finally figured out what was going on. Joe squatted down, sitting on the ground with us where there was more room, and Andy took the opportunity to fill the doorway. <br/>"Do we have to do it in the bathroom?", he asked, pointing to where his head was grazing the door frame, then peering disapprovingly down towards Joe (who's right shoulder was pressed against his tattooed calf). <br/>"I'm into a guy", I burst out, to shut up the complaining. Well done for elegant execution, Pete. </p><p>Joe nodded, head bobbing like he already knew. Who was I kidding? He definitely did. <br/>"The little Way kid", he said, reaching his fist out to bump mine. "Kudos. I'm not gay, but he's a pretty guy". <br/>"We'll pick apart how wrong that is later, yeah, Joe?", Patrick sighed. Andy cocked his head to the side. <br/>"You're gay?". <br/>"No", I said, my voice wavering. Andy was the mediator of any situation and had been the least of my worries, but he'd gone suspiciously quiet. He was a quiet person, but this was too silent. "Well, I'm, I- I think I'm.... I know I've had girls in the past. Cherry. So...". <br/>"Right....", he took a moment to pause, then when I thought my rib cage was gonna implode, the giant teddy bear swooped down and grabbed me off of the floor so that I was on two feet, grabbing me into an enormous hug. <br/>"Andy!", Joe ducked, his aim not to be kicked in the head by a man much stronger than all of us combined.  </p><p>"I love you", I buried my face into him, and then for some reason, I was crying. I didn't know why I was crying. "I thought you'd be mad, I thought-". <br/>"Like we'd never be mad at you. I'd never be mad at you. You're like... you're my boy", Andy pushed my fringe back and kissed me on my forehead. "Why would I be mad?".<br/>"I hid it for so long", I squeaked.</p><p>Why did I always come out in tour bus bathrooms? </p><p>"You're our little Peter Pan", I heard Joe silently whisper, followed by Patrick telling me that I was his best friend no matter who I loved. </p><p>Why did this love thing keep coming up? </p><p>Whoever said that I loved Mikey Way?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. such a pretty face on a pretty neck</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Apparently, Mikey had fallen in love with a diner in this state three years ago and he made it his tradition to go every time. I believed him, not just because he said it, but because of how confidently his legs lead us there. </p>
<p>When Mikey and I walked, he held onto my hand despite the possibility of seeing fans looming around every corner. I thoroughly enjoyed the way his fingers clasped around mine instead of just his palms as our arms swung loosely between us: it made it seem like he really wanted me. I also liked that he kept telling me that I was insane because I didn't want to step on the cracks in the sidewalk. </p>
<p>As it turned out, it was an all-American diner, which I laughed to myself about because it was just so perfectly stereotypical. Mikey stopped in front of the push door, stared up and grinned. <br/>"This is Americana", he gripped my hand as if he was nine and standing at the front gates of Disneyland. I scrunched up my nose in mock disgust. <br/>"We gonna grab a vanilla shake before we head down to the sockhop?", I teased, and Mikey rolled his eyes. <br/>"Well they do have milkshakes, and I can't promise a sockhop but if you're lucky I might let you blow me later", he grinned. </p>
<p>I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to grab Mikey's face and get lost in his warm eyes and then inch my lips closer to his until there was absolutely no fucking gap between us. Course, because of society and norms and social media rumors and stuff, I couldn't. I could think about it, though. </p>
<p>I could marvel Mikey's body from afar like he was a masterpiece (because he was) as he leaned over the counter and ordered something for us to eat - he'd made me slide into one of the red and white booths to wait for him, but I had to stand up and I had to get a hand on him. His body was so cute in his tight light wash jeans with the black button-up tucked in - he literally looked like a gothic reject Hollister model. </p>
<p>Mikey gasped a little when my hands gripped at his waist, whipping around to kiss me. He'd actually kissed me, here in public, without feeling embarrassment or apprehension. <br/>"Debby is making us ice cream sodas and cheeseburgers", he smiled, running a finger over my lips, eyes low and heavy. <br/>"Debby sounds like a good woman, they should give her a raise".</p>
<p>Debby turned out to be a middle-aged woman, plump and warm faced, all smiles and giggles in her pink uniform. She provided some very nice ice cream sodas and also provided comic relief. When she gave us a chocolate chip cookie on the house and said it was because we were 'an adorable couple', I watched Mikey to see how he'd react. He smiled a little, even blushing when he ducked to hide his face and thought I couldn't see. </p>
<p>Mikey sat across from me with his burger and drink, so we had to let go of each other. My mind was doing gymnastics trying to come up with something to say, so much so that I was caught off guard by him holding up his phone. <br/>"Pose", he grinned, so I threw up a peace sign for the blinding flash and watched him tap something out. <br/>"What was that for?", I smiled when he put his phone down, and he shook his head. <br/>"You're just pretty damn cute, Pete Wentz. I needed a new lock screen". <br/>"A new...", it clicked as I trailed off: when I picked up his phone from where it lay face down on the table, it lit up to reveal that very photo of me. He'd needed a new phone background. "You're the fucking best. You're amazing, Mikeyway". </p>
<p>Whilst I took the first couple of mouthfuls of my burger, I knew I definitely wanted to open up to this boy now. See, I hadn't exactly been one hundred percent open before - everybody was entitled to a secret or two... or five... but now I seriously felt that Mikey was entitled to know mine. All of them. All of them that need be. </p>
<p>It started with a, "So, Mikes... I never told you about my childhood". It was so simple, and I could tell that when the boy told me to elaborate, he was just expecting some cute anecdotes about me learning to walk, me learning to ride a bike, me losing my first tooth e.t.c, e.t.c. </p>
<p>He wasn't expecting me to open with, "I was born four weeks early and placed in intensive care the second I came out".  <br/>"Pete, I'm sorry. I had no idea", he offered, reaching out to take my hand. I shook my head but didn't decline the hand holding. <br/>"No, it's fine. You don't have to comment on any of this but I just want you to know. Can I continue?".<br/>"Please".  </p>
<p>"So the reason I had to be removed was because for the first three months of her pregnancy, my mom's boyfriend - my real dad - was abusing her and forcing her into taking heroin, and there was a chance that I was going to be born dependant on drugs. It was a relatively tiny chance but I ended up being, and for the next four years of my life I was entirely addicted. They couldn't seem to ween me off of all of the meds, and it got to the point where my mom couldn't even pick me up because my skin hurt to touch". I kept taking breaks to eat or drink, then continuing quietly. "When I was six, I was off of the substitutes completely but I was still in the hospital a lot. My mom decided to take my dad to court - he fled to Canada when my mom told him she was six months pregnant but she didn't think she'd be able to get him imprisoned, as a former crack addict, so she'd never wanted to try. It was her lawyer who told her that she'd most definitely win, having been clean since before I was even born. Course, him turning up to court completely high landed him one life sentence for using, plus another life sentence for abusing my mom. She's fine, by the way. She got married to her lawyer, actually - this guy called Tim who had a daughter himself. We're a family and we're all good people but I just... I just wanted you to know". <br/>"Pete...", the boy wanted to say something, but he also knew I didn't want him to so he pushed aside pride to make me happy. "Thank you". <br/>"And you", I squeezed his hand. That was all I needed. </p>
<p>When we had finished our food, we slipped out of the diner - Mikey getting distracted by a song he liked playing on the jukebox beforehand - we were sipping on the remains of our sodas in complete silence. If I'd have spoken, the words would have come out of my mouth like vomit. </p>
<p>I had to focus on other things to stop the word vomit, but I couldn't count his freckles whilst we were walking so I was watching the moon. It was about halfway up its descent now, moonlight glimmering down on this quiet state. </p>
<p>"Getting late", Mikey must have been watching me staring into the darkening sky. <br/>"Time is a meaningless human construct and we all die whether it takes five minutes or five centuries", I wasn't even trying to be funny in my dry old way but the boy laughed hard.  </p>
<p>"Been craving one of those", he looked at me and then sighed in an elated kind of way when we walked a little more and tipped our empty cups into the near trashcan. I couldn't stop smiling at him. <br/>"Really good choice, Mikeyway". <br/>"Yeah? Cool", he grinned. "And thanks for being so honest tonight. That was major". </p>
<p>Mikey made me overthink everything I did. He made me overthink everything he did too. I think that, in general, he made me overthink, but perhaps sometimes I just needed to put thought into my actions. </p>
<p>I think I was falling in love with Mikey Way. And I think I wanted to tell him. </p>
<p>I'd had a lot of lectures from Patrick about love and the illusions it caused but the pessimism always ended up producing laughing fits. </p>
<p>But now I also had Mikey Way pinned against the tour bus, round the back between a wall and the vehicle as if it mattered in this dark anyway. It was as if everything Patrick had said about not getting my heart broken was just thrown out of the window. The world was silent and empty for an unsure while which meant that he was all mine. I made sure to clarify this, leaning in and biting his ear before whispering a seductive, "You look great tonight. Like a princess. Be good", down it. <br/>"Alright, I- fuck... you gotta touch me". </p>
<p>One of those sure yet shaking hands of mine was forceful as it slipped into the boy's jeans and felt how wet and hot it was down there already. Mikey let out a pathetic little moan as I ran a finger up his erection: he didn't have underwear on. He was so fucking filthy. I loved him. </p>
<p>"Tell me what you want. Tell me what you wanna do to me", he practically begged me, sucking on my neck and undoubtedly leaving a bright red mark I'd be sporting for a couple of days tops. The way he was so attentive to the soft spots of my skin had me miserably losing the fight to push down a hard-on: I couldn't really even form a sentence in this state. </p>
<p>"I want to go down on you, Mikeyway", I gripped at his hips like I'd float away if I let go, and perhaps I would. Perhaps I'd float away into the void. "I want to go down on you and see your eyes as you cum". <br/>I could feel him pressing up against my leg, getting as close as he could in the secrecy of the dark. All the blood rushed to my ears and I hardly heard the calling of various distant parties or that chatter of the adjacent campsite. All I heard was Mikey stating, "Pete, I'm fucking hard", all hot and frustrated down my ear. All it took to spur Mikey on was me asking a very unnecessary question. <br/>"Tour bus is gonna empty for a little while if you... you know". </p>
<p>When he'd let out a quick snicker, we were in the tour bus as fast as you could say "yes fucking please", though maybe that'd have to be abbreviated to just a simpler "yes" because Mikey was rock hard and I didn't think he'd last all too long. I was lucky that I knew the guys had gone out for a snack run: never had I been so thankful that Andy would take at least thirty minutes just to find a good vegan store. Here was to praying one of the management team wouldn't come into the bus to harass me - they probably wouldn't. People didn't tend to come to me with burning financial questions. </p>
<p>The long vent that was closer to my bed than anyone else's was rattling with an indescribable comfort, blasting the cold air conditioning right above where Mikey slammed me into the wall the minute the screen door was slid shut. I went to move forward and kiss him but he slammed me back as if he was taking the dominant role, but I gripped his wrists and span us round with all my strength, bracketing his thigh as I licked up his neck. <br/>"Fuck you, Wentz". </p>
<p>There were no words that came from either of our mouths to indicate that we wanted to take off our shoes and socks, but we did, Mikey tucking his away behind my suitcase and underneath a pile of clothes. He left his socks, and eventually his jeans, on the ground; it was so strewn with various personal items that I knew he'd definitely have lost them by morning. </p>
<p>Not once did we say we wanted to be horizontal but we fast rolled down into my bunk and then, shit, that was nice. That feeling of Mikey melting underneath me. </p>
<p>He was moaning for me, squirming under my touch when I ran a thumb over his head and whispered, "you're so... you're... Jesus, Mikeyway". <br/>"Take off your shirt", he smirked, tugging lazily at the hem. I pulled the fabric off altogether and then Mikey finally got what it seemed he'd wanted. Finally got his hands on me - and his hands were definitely everywhere, exploring my soft stomach and hard hip bones. <br/>"Perfect", he muttered under his breath. I rolled my eyes and reached down to give him a lazy kiss. </p>
<p>A clashing noise occurred in the kitchen, and the next few seconds were a whirlwind of disorientation: Mikey pulling the curtain so we plunged into darkness, me scrambling for the light switch, the boys piling into the bus. I hadn't even heard the door hiss open. Had they trained to be ninjas while they were out? </p>
<p>"Pete, we got you some of that Hershey's crap you love", Joe said. They must've known I was here because I hadn't bothered to hide my shoes once I'd kicked them off. <br/>"I... g-gee, thanks". What was that? That mousey little voice was pathetic. How come Mikey had made me melt like soft butter on a hot day? </p>
<p>Though perhaps soft wasn't the exact correct analogy, not between my ignored erection and Mikey's own rock hard problem. </p>
<p>"You getting off in there or something, Pete?", Patrick laughed from outside, and oh god, if they opened this curtain then I'd die of embarrassment, so I just stammered out a weak 'yes' and reattached a hand to Mikey. His hips bucked upward, gasping. I <br/>Andy sounded disgruntled as he sighed and said, "You know the no noise rule, bud". <br/>"Gotcha. Sorry", and that was that. </p>
<p>Mikey's body tensed up as he whispered that he was close in the tiniest, minutest voice ever. Then there was a head push that indicated his want for an act that would be wildly dangerous to commit in our current circumstances: of course, the adrenaline made everything hotter. My head was spinning as I shuffled down the bed, and my knee cracked unexpectedly but I hardly noticed. </p>
<p>Mikey's dick was hot and responsive when I took the head in my mouth, and when my tongue made contact with it, the boy let out a strangled moan. It was the hottest thing I'd ever heard. It sent my desire into overdrive like that was something needed right now on a bus full of my best friends.  </p>
<p>"Pete! For God's sake, man", someone sounded disgruntled. <br/>"Sorry", I stammered, alarmed but not alarmed enough. I was inching down his cock until I'd taken almost all of it in my mouth, pretty much feeling an odd sense of pride as I sucked him. I was hardly an expert at this act so I tried moving my neck the way I'd seen it done in porn and that only made his tiny body spasm more. Now I was really fucked. </p>
<p>No, correction, I was fucked when I looked up to make desperate eye contact with him. I'd only done it because he tightened his grip on my hair. Somehow I instantly knew what was coming. </p>
<p>Or should I say who was coming. </p>
<p>He moved his hand from where it was pressed up against his neck up to his mouth and I moved back quickly. I wasn't quick enough, though, the boy shooting his load onto the side of my face and then the rest into my hand. </p>
<p>His face was so choked up and desperate in the moment, aching for me and aching to make noise. I knew the second it was over that I wanted to go again. Very soon. </p>
<p>At least I thought that was it, but Mikey brought my head up to eye level so that he could fucking smirk at me. I was breathless and panting but keeping ahold of my stability as best as I could. Until he licked up my jaw and ear, nibbling at the lobe when he did this just for kicks. </p>
<p>And at first I didn't realize what he was doing, but then he smirked again and licked his own substance off of my fingers, and it finally clicked in my brain. If my shocked gasp didn't alert my bandmates, my horrifically turned on cry of, "that's fucking dirty, Mikeyway. That's so fucking dirty", certainly did. </p>
<p>Out of nowhere, after so much silence, Patrick pleaded, "Pete, please don't tell me you were just getting Mikey off in the same room as us". <br/>"Shit, Mikey's in there?", Andy groaned in exhaust - Joe just let out a very loud laugh. </p>
<p>In complete and utter embarrassment, I threw my head into Mikey's shoulder. He didn't seem very rattled by it. <br/>"Goodnight, guys", he chortled, met by a tired grunt from Andy and an oddly proud reply from Joe. Something told me Patrick was mortified and giving us the cold shoulder. </p>
<p>There was quite a bit of shuffling so that I could find a pair of bottoms to lend Mikey and stuff but eventually, Mikey had pulled the soft comforter over our sticky bottom halves, turned off the switch that kept my string of lights glowing, and kissed my head. I let his warm hands slip on the upside of my shirt that was now ruined with stains from a substance better left undiscussed, even snuggling against him. Everyone was asleep now, or at least plugged into their headphones. </p>
<p>"You sure you don't need me to-". <br/>"No, no. God no, you just sleep. I'll rub one out in the morning or some shit", I whispered. Mikey kissed me once more. <br/>"Can I watch?".<br/>"Fuck you, Mikeyway".</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. when i told him i didn’t want to feel strange anymore</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was nothing like nature to cure seasonal depression. </p><p>All thoughts cleared from my head when I was creeping through forest clearings beneath clear blue skies. My skin was warmed by the rays of sunlight - god, it was next level beautiful. Sometimes I craved it. I had unexpected urges - wants, almost - to get outdoors at least once a week, and even after eight or nine years of it I hadn't figured out if it was the depression, the anxiety, the attention deficit or just the general manic pixie dream boy wanderlust. Ooh, Peter, what a special snowflake. </p><p>Perhaps it was the time I'd spent at Camp Ivory catching up with me. Mind you, I was a young repressed homosexual during my time spent at that overly expensive summer camp full of very attractive boys my own age, so it probably just brought out my homosexual tendencies. Seriously, what was summer camp?</p><p>You segregate the two sexes for an entire summer vacation, leaving horny pre-pubescent boys with nothing but their own sex to experiment on, not to mention the insane lack of adult supervision. Good god, the counselors were complete and utter shit at that camp: we always ended up managing to sneak out, and as we got older - when our teenager hormones kicked in - midnight hookups by the lake or secret parties in the residential halls were a nightly occurrence. I'd been felt up by horny older campers in dark forests more times than I care to recollect.</p><p>When I'd woken up beside Mikey, I laughed. Like, actually giggled, because I had woken up thinking about how much of a homoerotic prison yard that camp really was. He groaned, curled into my side, and then opened one eye. <br/>"Why ya laughin', shortstack".<br/>"I think teenage Pete's gay fantasies are the only reason any of this is happening between us", I couldn't stop laughing now, and I was so glad that I was always the last one up because I definitely would have woken up the bunk. Mikey laughed, probably just politely. Even if I wasn't funny, he was always just giggling like a groupie, and I thrived off of it because it meant he didn't have his stoic facade anymore. He also raised an eyebrow. <br/>"Thirteen-year-old Pete's journey into gay porn is the sole reason why I got blown last night, or...".<br/>"That and the fact you", I kissed his nose, "are incredibly adorable. Incredibly. Not to mention sexy - did you know you were sexy?".<br/>The boy rolled his eyes, "I mean, you're sexy too, I guess".<br/>"You guess? Outrage!", I cried in fake shock, twisting so that I could sit up and straddle him. "Take it back", I told him once I had his arms pinned up above his head. His bony body squirmed underneath me but I could tell in all my omniscience that he wasn't really objecting it. <br/>"Such a bitch. You're so needy, Mikeyway", I smirked. <br/>"You complaining?".<br/>"Oh, no", I smiled, leaning in. The boy tried to kiss me but I moved away, only letting him attach our lips when he let out a disgruntled and very annoyed, 'Pete, I swear to god!'.</p><p>I think I was definitely was falling in like with Michael James Way: it was almost a head over heels, sappy movie moment. You know the one where the protagonist looks into the other person's eyes and the whole world just disappears around them. </p><p>Everything else went out of focus when Mikey's hot whiskey eyes locked on mine. </p><p>If the blissful serenity of the lush green outside world was calming to me, Mikey was a literal virtue. In a way, he reminded me of nature - he wouldn't get it if I told him, though. </p><p>He wouldn't get that, to me, his laugh was like the wind whistling through the trees. He wouldn't understand that his calloused bass fingers, soft lips, and long legs all moved with the freedom of the trees. The only thing was that trees helped you breathe, whereas Mikey almost goddamn asphyxiated me. </p><p>Mikey wouldn't comprehend that he was being crushed on by someone like me. </p><p>So yes, my first love was staying as nature for now, and when Patrick saw me moping around the bus after Mikey left, he finally broke the silence he was subjecting me to. </p><p>"So apparently there's a huge waterfall behind the woods at the back of the campsite, and I know you love stuff like that...". <br/>"Are you-". <br/>"We can go", Patrick smiled, putting a hand on my shoulder. "I'll phone Vida and see if they want to tag along?". I nodded elatedly. <br/>"Andy is gonna want to come too. Maybe that's best. I feel like we might die without him out in the wilderness". <br/>Patrick just shook his head and said, "go put your shoes on, Peterpan".</p><p>Andy turned out to come in handy when we set off and realized he was the only person out of all five of us going who had any sense of direction at all. </p><p>There wasn't much to describe besides a lot of looming, willowy birch trees, standing proud and stern for miles all around me as we politely wove our way through. It really was nature who was in charge here, and we were just visitors. </p><p>So Andy lead, and for the most part, it was Gerard and Patrick who were upfront with him, and me lagging behind with a very happy looking Mikey as close next to me as he could get without giving anything away. </p><p>Our hands kept brushing together, and every time I felt his touch I felt the urge to steal a lightning-fast yet blissfully successful kiss. <br/>"You look hot", I repeatedly said, and every time he would push me slightly and mutter an embarrassed, "Not around my brother". </p><p>"Why've you always got to bring your brother into it? You don't see me bringing my step sister into things", I asked the next time he said it: Mikey rolled his eyes, glanced around and then kissed me hard. I had to stop in my tracks to stop my knees from collapsing on me. <br/>"Because I tell him everything. It's huge that I haven't told him about... us... yet". <br/>"You don't tell me things. I think I know you and then you go ahead and surprise me with something", I pouted. <br/>"Stop being a cry baby", he hissed, but his hand slipped into mine as we picked up walking again, not pulling away when the guys kept turning round to check on us. </p><p>I felt like I was the epicenter of all of the foliage once we wandered into a large clearing in the trees and were faced with what looked like an abandoned campsite. A tarpaulin was caught in the near bushes, flapping spastically in the warm breeze. The grass had a patch in the middle that was slightly charred, stray logs surrounding it reminiscent of what must have once been a fire pit, and there was a lake surrounded by large, mossy rocks. </p><p>"It's like you can smell the fucking water or something", I ran up to Andy and patted him on the back, eager to rip off my shirt and slide in. Patrick stopped me gently by gripping my now bare shoulder, and Andy just rolled his eyes. <br/>"No diving. I'm not sitting in the emergency room treating your cold water shock", Patrick let me go under the demand I'd ease myself into the glistening water. <br/>"It's nothing. Just good navigation - I saw moss growing southward and just... assumed". <br/>"Just assumed there was water nearby because of the fungi?", Gerard raised an eyebrow. "I'm impressed", he said, and Andy actually blushed. A scarlet stain actually spread across this manly, tattooed drummer's face. </p><p>The water was freezing against my bare chest when I slowly dunked my body under to acclimatize, and I was more than glad that I got into it as Patrick demanded. Patrick followed me, then Gerard and Andy, and eventually we were all splashing around in there. </p><p>All apart from Mikey, who was looking very lonely on the mossy bank, elbows tucked into his armpits, using his shins like a wall of defense. I noticed that he was muttering things to himself and that he had taken off the necklace he was wearing so he could obsessively twist the string around his pointer finger. </p><p>"Uhh, Gerard-", I turned to say, but he was already swimming towards his brother and pulling his damp body out onto dry land. I took a peek behind me, making sure Andy and Patrick were still unaware of anything going on, and swam too. I stayed in the water, a good meter away, and when the Way brothers both acknowledged my presence but didn't tell me to piss off, I felt pretty good about myself. </p><p>"Mikey, you're manic", Gerard said sternly, one hand on each of his brother's shoulders. "I need you to take a breath and find your head, okay?". <br/>"I'm not manic, Gerard. I'm not having a fucking panic attack, okay. I'm peachy fucking keen", Mikey twisted away from him sharply; I'd never seen him with that much hate in his eyes. <br/>"Was it the water? Did that trigger you?".<br/>"I'm not manic! I don't get manic anymore, I'm better now". Gerard stayed adamant, grabbing his jeans from the grass behind them and finding his phone in the back pocket - I craned my neck to see his screen, to see what he was scrolling to, but luckily he turned it to show his brother and I got a better view. </p><p>If inception wasn't too hard of a concept to grasp, Mikey was being shown a video of Mikey talking to Mikey. Specifically, past Mikey delivering future (or present Mikey, I guess), a message: <br/>"Mikey, stop it. I know you think you're one hundred percent better and you're not manic right now but nobody is ever one hundred percent anything, so if someone is telling you you're manic then you have to let him help you breathe. You gotta, Mikey. If someone is saying it's happening, it's happing, okay Mikey? Got it? You're manic, Mikey. Listen to them". </p><p>So many questions were popping into my head now. What did Gerard mean by manic? Did Mikey have some problem he hadn't mentioned to me? Why was water the trigger? What the fuck was going on right now? Seriously. </p><p>They finished the short breathing exercise and Mikey wrapped his arms around his brother's neck. <br/>"I'm sorry".<br/>"It's okay, Mikes". <br/>"I don't like being manic", he whispered, voice only coming out as a disheveled squeak. <br/>"I know - but you know what we have to do now, right?".<br/>"Right".  </p><p>Gerard kissed his little brother on the head and then slid his body back into the water next to me. <br/>"Is he alright?", I asked, and Gerard kind of seemed reluctant to answer. The younger Way sibling had plugged his headphones into his ears, though, and was lying on his back. <br/>"It's body issues, isn't it? I tried to take his shirt off the other day when we were-", I was quick to stop myself but Gerard had clocked on, turning to me with a knowing smirk. "Shit", I said. <br/>"You don't think I've been suspicious about you two? You act like a fucking married couple. I'm really just holding out on Mikey to tell me so I can laugh at him and tell him I know", the boy looked at me. "It's sort of got to do with his body... and his anxiety. See, he has a lot of body issues, and they trigger his panic attacks, so he gets all jittery and, well, manic. I have that video on my phone - we all have it: mom, Frank, Ray, a couple of members of our management team. All of our family, virtually. If he hears his own voice, he listens". <br/>"Oh", I furiously blinked away a tear. "Oh shit, he... he never told me about any of that. He never tells me anything". <br/>"That's not true". <br/>"Didn't tell me about this. Didn't tell me about all your siblings. I don't even know his birthday". <br/>"At the minute, Mikey's more comfortable with you than he is with anyone else", Gerard patted my shoulder in an act of what I could only guess was half-hearted friendship. "Mikes likes you, Pete. He really likes you, and he'll open up soon. Birthday's and shit don't matter". <br/>"But they do! And favorite colors and their favorite ice cream flavour". <br/>"You boys have a much more passionate and deep understanding. You'll get it eventually", he sighed and went to turn away, but stopped himself. "Pete - you're being safe, right?". <br/>"I... yeah. Yeah, we're being safe", I didn't have the heart to tell him we weren't even hooking up. Yet. I just put his mind at rest instead, to which he nodded and swam back in the direction of the others, leaving me standing there. </p><p>Mikey was laying perfectly still, and if I couldn't see his chest rising and falling then I would've assumed he was dead. I got out, lay down, mirrored his body, then turned my head to look at him. <br/>"Hi", he whispered, taking out an earphone. He seemed vacant. Distant. I wanted to kiss him. <br/>"What you listening to?", I asked, my raised knee brushing against his own. The boy smiled weakly. <br/>"Your band, actually". <br/>"Yeah?", I asked, amused, gripping the screen to see if he was lying. He wasn't. "Ten AM Company - that's a good one". We laughed a little. </p><p>That was a song about the natural human desire for waking up beside someone and knowing everything would be okay. When I'd written it, I wasn't aware I'd soon be living it. </p><p>"Why don't you tell me things?", I whispered, the sudden seriousness catching Mikey like a fish with bait. <br/>"What do you wanna know?".<br/>"You never told me you have panic attacks or body issues and now I feel like a complete objectifying dick. You didn't tell me you had a big family. I don't know your favorite color or ice cream flavour". <br/>"That shit doesn't matter", the boy said, just like his brother had, but he saw my defeated facial expression. </p><p>"I don't have panic attacks, I have manic anxiety attacks. When I have them I have to listen to my music, then take one of my emergency uppers and call my doctor as soon as possible", he said, placing a finger against my lips when I opened my mouth to talk. "And my body issues are something I'd rather not get into but they're there, just so you know. I have three older siblings and three younger ones - Margot, Jamie, Gerard, me, Jess, Coraline, and Maxwell. They're nice but I don't really like being around them. My favorite color is red, I prefer gelato over ice cream. You have to tell me your favorite things now too, though". </p><p>So I did. I told Mikey everything he wanted to know, and vice versa. </p><p>Everything. Because Mikey always had a consistent passion that made me want to be around him. It made kissing him something I craved. So I did. And nobody noticed. </p><p>Or at least, nobody cared.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. when you and i were young and dumb</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"The film has literally been over for half a second, Pete", Mikey groaned but didn't seem to mind when I kissed his neck as the credits rolled. "Half a second". <br/>"And you're lucky I watched the whole thing. And enjoyed it - really good choice, Mikeyway. I see why it's your favourite", I dragged a finger up my favourite vein in his slender neck and then when it stopped on his jaw I replaced it with my lips. "You're sexy". </p><p>He giggled and pushed me off of him, me at first mistaking this to be a sign to stop. But it wasn't. He dragged me by hooking a finger through my belt loop so that I was hovering even further over him and reached up until he was kissing me.<br/>"You're sexy, Mikey", I whispered, blushing profusely. <br/>"Shut up". <br/>"You're really sexy", I said again, laughing along with him this time as he muttered the words right back into my mouth.  </p><p>Though we weren't really saying it seriously, sort of taking a mocking tone as we uttered our chosen terms of endearment, he really did look good. He had his bangs pinned behind his ear for once and was in a short-sleeved tee, Taxi Driver nonetheless, for the first time all Warped (and yes, I was breathing unaided, thank you for your consideration. Just in case you were concerned his forearms has pushed me into cardiac arrest). </p><p>Kissing him seemed to be the only thing I ever wanted to do to Mikey. "Whatcha thinking about?", appeared to be the only thing I ever said to him, for I just wanted to know what was occurring inside his pretty head at every given moment: thoughts about secrets and scandals, about how alien life would be terribly disappointed if they ever actually ventured here, about me. Did he think about me? </p><p>I thought about him. Thought about the level of heat his neck always gave off and thought about how exhilarating it was to feel his calloused bass fingers on my bare skin. Thought about Mikey in the shower, and maybe I was there too, and maybe we were doing dirty things while getting clean. </p><p>"So fucking hot", I gasped, unaware of whether I was referencing the sweltering temperature or the body squirming atop of me trying desperately to get some kind of physical contact from the waist down. Mikey was my happily ever after from the waist down. </p><p>He bucked upwards suddenly and shit, hello, that was new. And that was exciting. Were those sirens blaring in my head? </p><p>Yep, they were certainly fucking sirens, blaring to the point where it was deafeningly loud as Mikey tried to rub himself against me as best as he could with desperate little grunts of determination. The spastic whirring came to a sudden halt when he decided instead to grab my belt and fiddle with it: the younger boy worked like a locksmith with a keychain. <br/>"Slow your roll, buckaroo", I potentially killed the mood, "are you...".<br/>"I mean... can I?". <br/>"Shit" I took a breath in as if I was reevaluating my being. "Fuck, yeah, alright". Mikey started to kiss me again which was my cue to not implode as I opened the fly of my jeans, and to not moan when his clammy hand slid beneath the fabric. </p><p>Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ the Lord and saviour. Baby Jesus in his manger, and reincarnation, and all those other horrifically blasphemous things... I was certainly going to hell but at least I'd be able to truthfully say that I'd go there spent. Mikey had his hand in my jeans - no, in my boxers - and he wasn't doing anything but he was there and I was having to breathe incredibly steadily. </p><p>Nope, as if it needed clarifying, Mikey wasn't the shy one: he was talkative and loud and sexual. He became dominant when he wanted something and stayed adamant to get it. He could ooze confidence in a nonchalant way that nobody else could, grab attention without doing anything. Mikey's eyes said words when his mouth said nothing at all. </p><p>"Pete, need more. Need your lips on more of me. I want you", he said and the whiny tone he'd taken on made me drop any sadness I could've potentially felt when he finally dismissed his hands from the heat between my legs. His eyes were wide, begging me to touch him. He wasn't dominant anymore. Far from it. And I love the control I finally had obtained back. </p><p>In what could best be described as non-chronological order, Mikey and I were freeing our hot bodies of our constrictive clothing: my shoes lay the ground and my top was fast thrown atop of them too. Then his pants were gone and Mikey was hard. He was rock solid. He was also fast to wrap his legs around me and pull me back down to give him attention, and Jesus Christ I physically held in a scream. </p><p>"You're fucking flexible", I whispered, gobsmacked. "Bitch, what can't you do? You're like a fucking superhero". <br/>"Some superhero". <br/>"Twinks make lovely superheroes". <br/>"Fucking fuck you". <br/>"Wish I could, Mikeyway, but I'm afraid your remaining clothes are gonna get in the way". <br/>"You could just take them off", the boy offered, lowering his thighs from around my neck. "Start with my shirt". <br/>"Don't you have...", I shrugged, not really wanting to say 'body issues' out loud because it didn't really seem like the smartest move of the century. <br/>"I trust you". </p><p>Then my hands were assisting him in pulling off the hand me down band tee and I felt like I was at an art gallery waiting to see what was behind the big red curtain. I'd waited and waited and waited. </p><p> I almost said something when I finally got the first glimpse of his small frame. Mikey was all milky white skin aside from where his shoulders bore freckles and where a large off-colour scar ran from his left pectoral up to the bottom of his right collar bone. Then there was the rest of the discolouration, heavily cicatrised between the neck and waist. </p><p>I hardly even noticed. I don't think I even cared, at least not right now. </p><p>"Fuck", I breathed in. "Fuck, you're beautiful". <br/>"My scars are pretty bad, they... I was-.<br/>"Hey, no", my hand found his and clasped it, where I planned it would remain for the rest of this session's duration. "You definitely don't have to explain. Not yet. Mikes, you're perfect". </p><p>I grabbed ahold of my spinning head to take another look (or a deeper look, because I had hardly taken my eyes off of him). It was now fully apparent that a small metal bar ran through a part of his anatomy I'd never have expected. <br/>"Michael James Way has a nipple piercing?", I grinned. <br/>"Don't look so delighted".</p><p>Mikey was smiling at me with an innocence that he had no right to have - not with his hips stuck between my thighs and his tongue fast to move between my teeth. Not when he had gotten ahold of my hard dick like five minutes ago. Definitely not when his back arched up and a moan ripped through his lips because I ran my tongue up his Adam's apple. He clenched my hand. I could feel the wet patch at the front of his boxers grow bigger. Fuck, I finally got Buddhism, because this was fucking nirvana on earth. Right here. This moment. </p><p>"Fuck - do you have a condom?", he half asked in a whisper, moving his hard body against mine. I sat up for a second and flashed him a mischievous grin. <br/>"A condom? You planning on having sex with someone?". <br/>"Yes. No. I don't know, fuck", he let out a sweet laugh and wrapped his arms right around his small frame like a safety jacket. "You're such an ass, Pete. Can you just...". <br/>"Just...".<br/>"Just... I don't know. We haven't really talked about this, at all - are we gonna have sex? Like, ever?", Mikey half laughed, sort of embarrassed, and I froze. </p><p>He'd used the word ever. Ever as in forever, meaning Mikey was seeing as far into the future as he could with this relationship. My heart instantly warmed up. </p><p>"I mean... if that's what you want, of course, we're gonna... why is this the first time you've mentioned this?". <br/>He shrugged, "I have a bad past when it comes to sex, guess I was never ready before". <br/>"Well, how come you seem already for it now?", I raised my eyebrow and took the moment to stretch. <br/>He sighed, "guess I'm still not. Kind of hate my body. Not just the scars - I'm too skinny and tall, it's awkward. I'm scared that if you don't wanna touch my body, after all, you might just go find someone else instead".<br/>"You're fucking angelic. Mikes, any boy that can wrap his legs around someone's neck and still make out with them is way better than jacking it in a tiny bunk. I'd have my hands all over you right now if I was allowed to touch the artwork", I winked, and he squeezed my hand. <br/>"You're cheesy". <br/>"And?".<br/>"And I really fucking like you".  </p><p>I cautiously placed my lips to the centre of his throat, planting a little kiss, then doing this same manoeuvre every time I moved them downwards. I disregarded what he saw as his imperfections when I got to his chest, far too focused on kissing down his stomach. </p><p>"You know, I like you like this"' Mikey stared down at me. I looked up. <br/>"Yeah?". <br/>"Shuts both of us up. Maybe quiet is a good thing", he said, but then he was the opposite of quiet when I kissed just above his pelvis and he rolled his entire torso upwards. "Shit". <br/>"You like that, Mikeyway?", I asked, knowing full well that the answer would be a dishevelled 'yes', or a lustful 'more', or a mixture of the two. "God, yes". <br/>"Beautiful", I whispered, eyes like saucers. "I love you so much". </p><p>What the fuck. What the ever-loving fuck. Where the hell did I give my brain permission to say that? I really thought I'd fucked it, then. Scared him off. Potentially crushed any chance of anything. Thankfully, Mikey was too undone notice.   </p><p>"Pete, I'm gonna be straight with you now". <br/>"Good luck with that, bender". <br/>"Fuck you. But seriously - if you don't put something inside of me right now I think I might fucking die".</p><p>And that's how I realized something very important. Just like that. I was going to do whatever he wanted me to. It didn't matter if I had said I loved him or not. Maybe that was because he loved me too.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. in the heat of the summer you know that you should be my boy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Summer was only just beginning, and it was starting off with an all mighty bang. </p><p>The heat was that sticky and thick sort of sensation, and it would've normally annoyed me, but I think it was rather poetic because the temperature outside matched the temperature inside my heart in that moment, as Mikey and I sat dangling our legs from the top of an abandoned water slide. </p><p>There weren't exactly any signs or symbols that explicitly stated we weren't allowed up to this thirty-foot tall structure. It was secluded and nice, and that's all that mattered. </p><p>We'd ended up getting one step closer to having sex only a half-hour earlier. An hour prior to now I had my fingers inside of Mikey. I'd told him I loved him for God's sake, and now we'd come to see our friends but had ended up sneaking off alone: I'd never understood how we weren't sick of each other by now. Maybe there was more than just a sexual attraction after all. </p><p>How Mikey looked post-climax - heavy breathing, sticky body - juxtaposed incredibly with the innocent sparkle behind his eye now as he tugged awkwardly at his tight top. <br/>"Nobody cares what you look like. You could just take it off", I told him, trying to sound calm but fearing I actually just sounded insensitive. <br/>"Do you wanna know my story, Pete Wentz?", he turned to me and placed his hand in the minute gap between us. I did the same, making sure our pinky fingers overlapped, just an implied handhold. <br/>"Do your worst, Mikey Way". </p><p>There was the distant ambience of children whooping gleefully, but this area was abandoned and hidden behind several trees. Mikey took a deep inhale, then he spoke, and I fucking sympathised. This time last year, I was so numb that I never thought I'd sympathise ever again. </p><p>Mikey's scars were from surgery, and the discolouration was a result of the incident that required said surgery: when he was young - he didn't say how young, almost like saying a number made him feel pain - Mikey was attacked by acid outside of a music venue. </p><p>He described the way in which he felt the acid burn through his favourite smashing pumpkins shirt, then his skin, and how he just fell to the ground screaming in main while his friends and passers-by were frantically doing all they could to help. But, "Nothing fucking helped", he said, staring off into the distance, finding a spot in the clouds to focus on so it was easier to talk. "I thought for sure I was going to die, or that the person was going to come back again and throw it into my face this time so I'd go blind". <br/>"But... why? Who? I don't-". </p><p>He then explained to me how his manic anxiety used to sometimes make him feel like he had bipolar disorder, or a strand of it because he would do questionable things like picking fights with strangers. Some drugged up cunt who recognised him, telling him that his brother was a useless drunk, had pushed Mikey over the edge, but he was expecting a punch back. Not what he got. Not fucking acid. </p><p>I was shocked. Speechless. Maybe a little bit overwhelmed. All I could really do with all this information was pull him into a hug. It was a hug that lingered for a second too long, one where I could smell him after he moved away. <br/>"Mikes, that's...".<br/>"Yeah", he said, finally tearing off his top and instantly flushing red. "It's too fucking hot, I - promise you won't look?". <br/>"Promise", I said, forcing myself to stare down at my lap. "Shit. I've come so close to touching you so many times, you must've been so fucking scared that I'd feel your scars or something. Like... when we were laying on your tour bus with the guys and you put my hands on your stomach to warm them up. Why'd you do that?".<br/>"I put them where I knew you couldn't feel anything, and I knew you wouldn't move them. You wouldn't feel me up then and there. You're a wimp". <br/>"A wimp for not touching you up in the presence of your bandmates!", I pretended to gasp in mock offence. He laughed, throwing me a smile. </p><p>Mikey swung his legs over mine. <br/>"I've never been good at much. The guy I lost my virginity to was like thirty-two. I was hardly sixteen, thought he really liked me, felt really fucking proud of myself for bagging an older guy, but turns out he was actually a married man who didn't even want to get to know me as a person. On of those homosexuals who were oppressed into marrying women and subsequently turn into enormous perverts". <br/>"Mikeyway, you live in a soap opera", I traced one calloused fingertip down the scarred joint that attached his shoulder to his torso. "Was he... nice to you? How long were you two together for?".<br/>"Almost every night for about seven months... he'd book me a hotel room under a secret name, tell his wife he was going to the bar, then come over and do me. Hurt me really fucking bad every time we did it, actually. I haven't had sex since. Actually, today was the first time in three years I've... you know... had anything that didn't belong to me up there". <br/>"I re-popped your cherry?", I gasped, then he giggled awkwardly. "Without even putting my dick in you?"  <br/>"Oh my god, Pete", the boy rolled his eyes so hard that he saw God. "Can't you make it sound at least a tiny bit more romantic?". <br/>"How? I fingerbanged you on your tour bus sofa, it's not like we-".</p><p>Then I was being cut off in a way I had no objection to. There were lips involved. </p><p>There was always the fear that a fan could recognise us or a friend could question us if they saw us in public, but the keyword there was 'always': you couldn't run away from the inevitable, not even with a five-minute head start. </p><p>"Just to clarify, Wentz - when we do move onto the next level, it's gonna be me... giving. Don't worry though because you can, eventually, when I get my confidence back". <br/>"Mikeyway, I don't know if I'm that gay", I groaned, smacking him on the side of his body closest to me. He snatched himself away. <br/>"Don't be called to what's not set in stone", the boy grinned then proceeded to look me up and down. "Pete Wentz, I'm going to do you. Hard.  I throw down that gauntlet". And honestly, that was a gauntlet I didn't mind picking up. <br/>"So you want me to bottom?", I smirked, thinking about it for a minute - it wasn't a thought that I was entirely closed off to, especially not if that's what he was most comfortable with. <br/>"I'm not necessarily a top!", the boy claimed, raising his eyebrow. "This is just something we're going to have to deal with until I have enough confidence to overshadow my vulnerability".<br/>"You've started talking like me".<br/>"Yeah, we should stop hanging out. You make me smile, it's disgusting", Mikey giggled. "Come on, let's go grab something to drink". </p><p>When he finally sauntered off and descended back down to the safe ground, I followed him in awe. He pulled his shirt back on in the process, unfortunately, but I was able to steal one quick last glance. Behind his back, I smiled and nodded in approval. </p><p>The ground was that weird water park material that seemed hard but was actually oddly spongey under your feet, and which was always painted weird off shades of red and blue. I stared down at it while Mikey groped the back of his jeans to find his phone. <br/>"Got fans?", I smirked, nodding to his home screen. It was lighting up rapidly, more little notifications coming in by the second. <br/>"Family group chat".<br/>"Oh yeah?", I said, wanting to get some more information about the illustrious Way's, but Patrick was interrupting out of nowhere by attaching his hands to my shoulders. </p><p>"There you are", he said, spinning me around like we were a married couple. "Out in the daylight! Melanoma makes the world go round". <br/>"Factually inaccurate", I beamed, and then Elisa came to join us from around the corner, waddling like a penguin - her baby bump had grown massively since the last time I'd seen her a few weeks ago and she had now gone full maternity mode, wearing this pastel blue sundress and a big floppy hat combination that made her look so maternal and warm. I almost leapt into a surprised hug, flinging my arms around her neck. <br/>"Elisa! You're here, Patrick didn't tell me", I pulled away and watched her roll her eyes at her husband. <br/>"Useless", she kissed his cheek, Patrick going red as if that was his first-ever kiss. I wasn't sure if they made me feel love or nausea, but it was probably a little bit of both in retrospect. "Is this Mikey Way?". Mikey blushed then, shaking her hand. <br/>"Hi", he smiled. It made me laugh because he wasn't normally one to so his cheesy smile at a stranger - he was more 'polite grimace' - but El had... a certain aura. "You must be Patrick's wife".<br/>"I've heard so much about you", she said, pulling the skinny boy into a hug. I had to stifle laughter when she whispered "nice!" to me over his shoulder. Yeah, I'd done a good job with this one.  </p><p>"Why are you back?", I was beaming. She always instantly upped my mood. <br/>"I've started my maternity leave, so I thought I'd make the most of the weather and come to see my best boys. I assume my lovely husband also failed to mention that we're having a barbecue tonight?". <br/>"Oh, I love barbecue", Mikey was intrigued as we started walking back to the table where everyone's bags had been dumped. "Where's everyone?". </p><p>Patrick made a general hand gesture suggesting that everyone had wandered off into the park. Mikey and I nodded. <br/>"Hey, maybe we should go down a slide", I suggested, holding Mikey's hand. He looked down at us, panicked, and I realised we were in public. <br/>"Mikes, it's okay", I said, kissing him, much to his surprise. "They know. I came out to the band". <br/>"Oh... oh!", Mikey said. A blush spread across his face. "Well... hi".  <br/>"Pete's illustrious boyfriend", Eliza smiled. Mikey looked at me, caught off guard by that label, and then turned back to the couple and smiled. <br/>"Pete's person". </p><p>Patrick and Elisa looked proud of me, like parents, and I swear that was all I needed. </p><p>I had their support, and I had a person. A special person. Mikey was my person.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. come lay your body next to me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Two days after she married my stepdad, my mom decided that she wanted to get a degree in philosophy and become a teacher. Life was changing for her, and her personal hypothesis was that change was exciting. </p><p>I really felt like she was the smartest woman to walk this Earth, and she taught me some pretty important things about the world I lived in:</p><p>You always fell into a certain category of person: fire, wind, earth, and air. </p><p>That was something I held above my head and carried throughout my life, finding it fun to secretly categorize everyone I came across, hyper-analyzing Avatar instead of just enjoying it. Well - up until I met Mikey Way. He was simultaneously all of them and none of them, and that frustrated me beyond comprehension.</p><p>Mikey had crashed out on my bus the second we'd all made it back to the car park. Everybody else had stayed outside to help set up for the barbecue, but he had instantly retreated indoors, changed out of his damp clothes, plugged his headphones in and passed out amongst the sofa cushions.</p><p>He looked innocent, almost angelic - was it blasphemous for an atheist to describe someone in such a religious way? </p><p>Mikey must've been the least conventional angel ever. I'd never seen an angel in my red shirt and a pair of boxers - it was way too hot for his signature black skinny jeans, and he couldn't work up the energy to go back to his own bus, but he'd never be caught dead in a pair of my gym shorts, so a pair of underwear was the only way his poor legs were going to get ventilation. I couldn't help but find it endearing. </p><p>"Look at little man", Gerard appeared next to me in the doorway I was observing the sleeping Mikey from. "All tuckered out from a big day". <br/>"He was brave today, wasn't he?", I grinned. Gerard laughed, not in an insulting way.  <br/>"You have no idea. He hasn't been to a water park in years. Even if he didn't swim, he was there. I don't know how you do it". <br/>"Do what?".<br/>"You make Mikey more confident, Pete".</p><p>Mikey sighed, stirring slightly, probably because of our voices. The sunlight from the bus windows was hitting his face so that his floppy fringe and long eyelashes were glittering where they were still wet. His pale pink lips parted slightly, and then with a throaty cough, he was sentient again. </p><p>"You talkin' about me?". He hadn't opened his eyes yet. His voice was thick with sleep, all raspy and sexy, and I tried to stop myself from reacting, but Gerard saw me take a nervous gulp. <br/>"Course not", the older of the Way siblings said, reading the room. "I'll be out there helping set up".  </p><p>When it was just Mikey and me in the room, I took a few steps closer. He still didn't open his eyes, but after five seconds of silent comprehension, he laughed lightly. <br/>"Come and cuddle me, then, you absolute coward". <br/>"Mikes, I- how do you even know I'm here right now? Your eyes are closed and... you've got headphones in". <br/>"Because, dummy, I can always sense you", he said, opening his eyes open suddenly and letting a smirk spread across the corners of his mouth. "And I've got no music playing. I just didn't want to be interrupted. Come and take a nap with me". <br/>"You've been napping", I said, but nothing would ever stop me from lying down beside him, curling my arms around his tiny waist and pulling him in tightly.    </p><p>His feet were cold against my exposed shins, despite it being sweltering, and his head smelt like chlorine when I kissed the top of his hair. <br/>"Naptime", he mumbled again. <br/>"Mikey Way", I prodded his rib. "You've already napped". <br/>"Not with my special boy I haven't", he slipped a hand in mine, which was resting on his soft stomach. And hey, with that kind of persuasion, a nap was suddenly the only thing on my agenda.</p><p>There was a sense of vulnerability when I was with him. I'd said it before, and I had meant it just as much now as I did then, or perhaps even more because Mikey and I had bonded astronomically in what was - realistically - a very short amount of time. Now when we lay next to each other like this, the way his breathing steadily slowed down to emulate my own, only strengthened the belief that we relaxed around each other. Coming on this tour, everyone thought I'd need my meds to sleep, but the pills and potions had proven to just be dust collectors taking up precious cabinet space because I didn't need my meds around Mikey. His body... his warmth... it kept me calm when he was here. On nights that we weren't having our own private sleepovers, I'd get goodnight texts telling me to sleep tight. Or phone calls. And I did. I listened to Mikeyway. My body listened to Mikeyway. </p><p>I was in bliss - eyes nearly closed,  fingers twitching lightly against his. I think I still got nervous around him. I think this was a roundabout way of my body saying I was supposed to love him. I think I did.</p><p>"So we're in Chicago for the Fourth of July", I stated, and he looked me as if to say 'yeah, Pete, I can read a calendar'. I cleared my throat and continued my pathetic excuse for an invitation. "I grew up in the suburbs, which you probably know...".<br/>"Mhm".<br/>"And my mom has invited us all back to Wilmette for a party, so I was just wondering-". <br/>"Yes", Mikey whispered. I blinked, a confused expression creeping across my face. <br/>"How do you know what I'm asking? I could be asking you to wrestle a lion with me", I grinned, finding myself all too hilarious. The boy just smiled lightly, shook his head and yawned. <br/>"Then find me a unitard and get me to the zoo". </p><p>To break the nervous silence, Mikey faked a groan and an overdramatic stretch, wiggling his hips up against me as he did so. I rolled my eyes and kissed the nape of his neck. It felt dangerous, more dangerous than blowjobs in my bunk and kissing in dark corners. <br/>"You having fun working blue, there, Mikey?".<br/>"Not." <br/>"Then why was there so much ribaldry in this one singular movement? you want something, Way. You have determined energy", I stayed adamant. Mikey sighed, rubbing against me again. I felt the muscles in his faces moving lightly - he was smirking. <br/>"Big words".<br/>"You know what I mean, you do. I feel the energy".<br/>"Dammit, Wentz, stop reading my aura".<br/>"You want something".<br/>"Do I?".</p><p>He was trying to get me hard. He wanted me, and I knew it.</p><p>There was a sudden disturbance in the form of keys crashing against linoleum that caused Mikey and I to break apart guiltily out of fear that someone would see us in this compromising position. Almost everybody had a vague, general idea at this point - the paparazzi had blabbed to their zines and suddenly photos of Mikey and I holding hands or sporting love bites were rapidly circling the internet -  but I was still glad to see that it was just Patrick cursing his excessive keyrings for the noise they made. <br/>"Hey, Pattycakes. Mikey and I were just playing guitar hero", I joked, sucking air through my teeth so that it made a deranged whistling noise.<br/>"Ignore me, I'm just a man on a mission for honey on toast", he guiltily smiled and went to the cupboard, taking three slices of bread. <br/>"You're just a man with pregnancy cravings", I laughed. "You're coming out in sympathy for Eliza, aren't you?". Patrick swatted me away with a hand gesture as if I was a fly, and I became as attentive to Mikey as he was to the toaster.</p><p>"I know what you want", I kept my voice low not sure if Patrick could hear us from the other side of the narrow bus but not really caring either way. "If you're ready, I'm down".<br/>"We shouldn't talk about this", the boy was suddenly sheepish, overwhelmed by how easily I'd given in, but hey, maybe he shouldn't have underestimated his awesome powers of persuasion.<br/>"Pete, I'm not ready to... you know...", Mikey pulled at the collar of his loaned t-shirt.  "I want to eventually, but I have to get there by letting myself... stay in charge... to start off with. I get it if you don't want it because I know you've never done it before, but I want to... you know what I want. You read minds".<br/>"I'm clairvoyant", I nodded in approval. "And you're clearly not, because you obviously don't know how much of a rad power bottom I could be". </p><p>Patrick dropped his butter knife this time and looked at us apologetically when Mikey and I turned around to face him once again. <br/>"I'm leaving. I heard nothing. You guys were playing guitar hero", he shook his head as if he was an etch-e-sketch trying to shake away the image of Mikey and I having sex. I can't say I didn't blame him, and I made a mental note to apologize later as my best friend scattered out of the bus, plate in hand.</p><p>Mikey relaxed again now that we were left alone for a second time; he brought his arms to rest over my shoulders and slowly but surely cupped my face with his slender hand. <br/>"Pete... I-", he whispered, and I saw the way his eyes came alive, just Mikey Way's wide-eyed browns on mine, looking innocent in his expression while his mouth told a completely juxtaposed story. <br/>"I want you to". <br/>"What?". <br/>"I'm like... I don't know. I'm like a hopeless romantic, I think. I don't know. I want you to... just do". <br/>"You complain about being a bottom", the bit mocked. <br/>"I'm just really into you", I sighed. </p><p>Suddenly I regarded my mom's theory without a second thought. Mikey was too deep and soulful to fit into a category: Mikey was eyes like warm honey or hot whiskey; lips as soft as silk and porcelain skin that flared red at any bit of attention; talking with confident looks instead of uttering shy words; spending the mornings in comfortable silences; melting into embracing arms after a hard day; dormant when the world was awake and then springing to life when the night brought us privacy; the lust to book a one way plane ticket on the first flight out of town; giggling with an infantile innocence but fervent and adult when it came to kissing; chlorine kissed summer skin; a white picket fence fantasy with the person you loved; a desire to be a better person just to make this person happy. Mikey was everything and more.</p><p>"I want you", I harshly stammered out, because I was a mixture of nerves and desperation - the next thing I knew, we were horizontal again, but this time there was a heat between our bodies and a ringing in my ears.</p><p>Was I ready for this? </p><p>God knows. But suddenly it was all I wanted.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. can’t you feel my love heat?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Moons and stars had never been my thing. I liked to look at them, but astrology? Well, I found it overrated. Never once had I cared about my zodiac sign or flicked through the horoscope to determine how my day would go.</p><p>That whole outlook changed so easily: Mikey startling me awake at half-past one, telling me to meet him by the merch; me walking there with a fluttery feeling in my gut; Mikey, sitting beside the closed merchandise tent in the back of a van who's back doors were flung open like they were beckoning me to crawl in beside him; me, crawling in beside him; asking where he got the keys to this van; Mikey telling me he knew the woman who owned it, mentioning that she sort of had a crush on him; me, snorting at the thought of some groupie running merch letting her celebrity crush borrow her van so that he could take me on a sort-of-date in it; Mikey showing me the ice cream tub and the spoons he'd brought - I loved that he remembered spoons; and then finally, him telling me that "big dipper" was out tonight.</p><p>I never doubted Mikey was smart. I just found him to be more affluent in social smarts and not book smarts. With him rambling on about stargazing for the last half hour, I realized I'd never underestimate Mikey Way again; he knew everything about this funny little universe. </p><p>"So Orion is that one?", I squinted one eye closed to focus and pointed at a long string of silvery stars up in the sky. It had taken him at least fifteen minutes to teach me this. The sky was so different at night, purple with copious glimmering grey bits, no light pollution to block out the beauty. Mikey laughed slightly, moving my finger about thirty centimeters to the left. <br/>"Orion is there. It's the easiest constellation to find, you just have to find the straight line that comes off of the hunter's belt". <br/>"So... that one", I pointed once more, "is the Betelgeuse."<br/>"You'll be an expert by the next time we do this", he nodded, proudly. I scoffed.<br/>"You're a lucky man if you think you're getting me out of the bus at two in the morning ever again". We were facing each other and I started to spoon feed Mikey my ice cream, which now appeared to be our ice cream. When I missed his mouth and got a bit of cream on his cheek, we went to reach for it at the same time to wipe it away and found our hands touching. His fingers, bumping against mine and then just staying pressed against me, just like his knees were in his fraying jeans. "Seriously, why so late?"."<br/>"Well, I had to wait until the guys went to bed before I could sneak out, and I obviously wasn't just going to leave you as soon as the barbecue ended. Not when...".</p><p>My stomach churned. </p><p>We were going to have sex. </p><p>For a moment during the barbecue, I completely lost my head - I didn't care if people heard us, or if people suspected. Back on the bus, I had just wanted Mikey and only Mikey, and so I had taken him into my bunk, closed the curtain, and let him prep me. Let him touch me a way I'd never even imagine touching myself. That's when the interruptions began, one after one: a ringing phone; the guys telling us that food was ready; a seemingly endless game of charades. </p><p>"So, your star sign is...", Mikey started to change the subject so suddenly that I was almost certain he could read my thoughts.<br/>I coughed, "Gemini, apparently".<br/>"Oh", the boy thought for a second, "oh, oh, oh. I know this one. I know Gemini and Virgo compatibility".<br/>"Do tell".<br/>"Okay", he shuffled his body so that our knees were no longer touching, but instead so that he was resting the back of his head on my chest. The door frame wasn't the most comfortable part of a van, especially not when your spine was pushing into it, but I'd never tell Mikey to move off of me. Never. That would be blasphemous.</p><p>I wrapped my arms around him, sort of like I was Mikey's seatbelt. He kissed my hand, then he started to ramble.<br/>"Gemini and Virgo are ruled by Mercury: Gemini is masculine and exploratory, but Virgos are shy and feminine", he went a little bit red, fiddling with the wristband of mine that he still wore every day. "Geminis are all 'let's take off our pants and liberate ourselves' whereas Virgos are more...".<br/>"More... nobody look at my body or I'll kill myself?", I teased. Mikey laughed and nodded. <br/>"That's the one. Oh, oh, okay, get this - Virgos like to look at the details in their partners".</p><p>I found myself smiling, and awkwardly fidgeting a little. Mikey almost always left his glasses on. </p><p>I kissed his hair, nuzzling my face into the soft tufts so that my voice was muffled. <br/>"Where'd you learn all that?".<br/>"My mom", he shrugged, and that was it. No elaboration. Frank was right when he said that Mikey just didn't like to talk about his family. <br/>"You're smart. You're the smartest person I know". <br/>"You don't mean that". <br/>"Did I fucking stutter?", I asked, and the boy laughed heartily. It rang across the empty field in front of us and it vibrated against Orion and The Big Dipper and all the other constellations, just to rival their beauty. Michael James Way's laugh was shamrock shakes and green tea kit-kats and every song that I'd ever loved. </p><p>We were so far away from everyone. I'd never noticed how isolated the merch tent was, but we were all alone: just me, and Mikey, and the sky. </p><p>Except, the sky was fast getting blocked out, Mikey sitting up and pulling both of the doors shut without saying a word to me, instantly bracketing one of my outstretched legs and running his hand over my chest - he was feeling around for my keychain, grinning when he took it in his fingers and began to fiddle with it. <br/>"So, Virgo and Gemini are compatible?". <br/>"Mercury isn't a passionate planet, but our signs use respect to make sex work. It wouldn't work if there was no love", Mikey spoke again. I gulped. <br/>"You think we can work?". <br/>"Pete", the boy dragged a finger over my jaw, eventually letting it fall to my chin so that he could tilt my head up and gaze down at my lips. "Pete... there's not a star in the sky that would make me want to stop kissing your lips and running my fingers through your hair and telling you all the things I adore about you". </p><p>And then we were kissing, and I realized at once why he had closed the doors. </p><p>"I'm nervous", I breathed out. It felt so fucking stupid to say out loud - like, I'm a fully grown adult man who's getting all nervous and flustered at the first sign of intercourse. I could've beaten myself up there and then forgot letting myself say it until the boy opened his mouth and let a small, feeble, "me too" slip out. My nerves felt all too sudden as if this had all built up over a set amount of time. I realized the extent of how vulnerable I was. How inexperienced I was. <br/>"I've never done this. Not with a guy".<br/>"This is big for me too", Mikey smiled at me, soft and encouraging. "I've never - you know - given". This made us both laugh, settling us slightly. <br/>"You're so beautiful. It scares me how much I want you-". <br/>"It's okay, Pete. It's okay to want this". </p><p>Here he was. Here was the Mikey that I'd first met when we were intoxicated and still had our innocence. Mikey who was sexual, not sensitive. The Mikey who always knew what to do: pull me down on the carpeted floor of the van. Slowly roll so that he was hovering over me. Smirk because he knew what was coming. Kiss my face, kiss his lips, kiss my fucking neck. Reach down, undo my belt after asking if I was sure he wanted this. Breathe out when I nodded eagerly. Feel oddly relaxed that I wanted this. Find a condom in his jacket pocket, the jacket that was then thrown with all other clothing.</p><p>Touch me, tease me, make me whimper. </p><p>"Mikey", I gasped, finding his hand and squeezing it tightly. <br/>"Pete", he fired back, so expressionless and so so typical. <br/>"Give me something here", I begged. </p><p>Then he knew to slip inside of me, and watch everything melt away. All the anxiety. All the past and future. Gone. It was just Mikey and me in the present, his body in mine, my heart on his, underneath the constellations.</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. love me, love me, say that you love me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mikey and I changed. It was as if I was a sim and the time was set to full speed mode, and everything was whizzing along, hours turning into seconds, people moving spastically. </p><p>I was a statue for the first couple of minutes that I was awake because I was taking the time to digest what had happened last night, or if it had even happened. Then I opened my eyes and all sorts of clarification came flooding back as if my eyes were flood gates: the familiarity of being asleep with Mikey, who was propped up on an elbow when I finally came around, hair all fluffy and sticking up on one side. I made note of the big red mark on his pale neck. </p><p>"Morning, shortstack", he whispered when he saw my body stirring. "Sleep well?".<br/>"We fell asleep in the van?", I asked, thanking got that the state we were in - (what state was this? Florida? I'd lost track) - continued warm throughout the night. <br/>"Don't worry, Bonnie doesn't open merch until the afternoons so nobody's gonna see us leaving". <br/>"Good, because I think if I emerge from a van with sex hair, it's gonna look a little suspicious. What you reading?", I'd rolled over onto my side and now appeared to be face to face with him, his brows furrowed and the light from his phone screen illuminating his face. I ran the flat of my thumb along underneath his cheekbone.  <br/>"Reading something good", he stretched his arms out for a second and I heard something pop before he began to talk again. "Ray just told me that the band's been asked to perform every night of this stop". <br/>"Every night?", I gasped. "Mikes, what the fuck? This is a big stop. This is three nights  Jesus, I thought my band was cool for getting on my hometown's radio in a few days". <br/>"I know", he shook his head in disbelief. "I'm... I... fuck, are we really that good?". <br/>"God, I adore your music, of course, you're that good, Mikes! What happened? What made everyone realize Vida is kickass? This is fucking awesome", I wrapped my arms around his waist from where we lay horizontal on our sides. He was warm to the touch and the arch in his back made it easy for him to melt into me. <br/>"Our new single is number one in the rock charts", he said almost as if he didn't want the reaction he got from me: arms flailing, cheesy grin, a lot of congratulations. <br/>"But it means I'm gonna be busy until we go to the next state, and that sucks because it means we won't be able to...", he trailed off, tucking his head into my neck and kissing the little bit of skin he could get to. <br/>"So we're having sex now?", I smiled, taking his face in my hands so that I could bring his lips to my mouth instead. "That somethin' we're doing now?". <br/>"Oh, you know it. Maybe you'll like getting fucked so much that you won't ever want to switch". <br/>"I doubt it. You'll be claiming your position underneath soon enough, Mikes. Just you wait", I laughed. <br/>"I probably will, yeah...", Mikey shut his eyes again, as if he was desperate for another five minutes before the chaos started. "Ray's gonna send me the new performance schedule later. Shit. This is happening. We're becoming mainstream". <br/>"Until then... we can hang", I found his hand and squeezed it. "You're gonna take over the entire music world, my little rockstar". <br/>"I'm your little rockstar?".<br/>"Always, Mikeyway. Even though you're five thousand inches taller than me". </p><p>Things between the sweet little dudes were sweet. Yeah, sweet, as sweet as can be: just like cotton candy when it disappears under your tongue, or like the red stripes on white candy canes, or like the filling between the Oreo. Mikey James Way was sugar-sweet hyperactivity rushing through my veins. He was a green tea kit-kat. </p><p>However, things were busy. Over the next three days, Vida was lifted up in this whirlwind of press interviews and photoshoots that all somehow, miraculously, fit around the Warped tour schedule, plus they had early morning sound checks now. Mikey took over the world and I busied myself doing whatever I could.</p><p>During their soundchecks, I would wake up extra early just to bring them all coffee, and Mikey would thank me by stealing a kiss (and a little something extra) behind the amplifiers. I'd subsequently ended up helping run cables with the technicians as an apology for them finding Mikey with his hand down my jeans (thankfully the techs were mostly random middle-aged guys who had no idea who we were, so they couldn't exactly blackmail us with what they had seen). Suddenly I felt the need to always thank my guitar techs when they took away my bass at the end of shows, because being a tech was hard, and I only did it a couple of times. </p><p>I was there during their interviews, smooshing my face against the glass just to make Mikey flash that rare smile - the one that wasn't just lips curving upwards, but was instead a smile where his eyes lit up and his teeth appeared and his head tilted to the side. I could see that he was a little shaky, and with the knowledge that he hated interviews, I would give him a calming thumbs up before he answered every question. He'd see the signal, take a breath and open his mouth. I knew he'd thank me later, probably call me his gorgeous prince, and then I'd call him my sweet little dude, and then we'd disappear off into my bunk. </p><p>When they had their photoshoot, I went just to watch Mikey pose for the blinding lights, all sharp hip bones and low slung jeans and toned arms and long fingers and dark eyes. Afterward, he ran up to me and I span him round with my hands on his hips to steady myself. Then Mikey actually kissed me. In front of everyone. </p><p>There was just a little bit of tongue, but enough to verge on the brink of impropriety, especially when he bit my bottom lip. <br/>"My little rockstar", I pulled away, and I could hardly hear anything over the sound of my heart, but all I knew was that my heartbeat was syncopated to the frantic whooping from all the other members of Vida. We turned guiltily to see Ray, Gerard and Frank all with the same similar smirk on their faces. I didn't care that they were ribbing us - in fact, they could tease us and woop and grin as much as they wanted to because now they all knew the exact solidarity of Mikey and I, which meant Mikey and I could kiss around them until we had no more breath left in us. </p><p>When Mikey looked at me, he looked with an intensity: his eyes locked on me and then scanned every part of my face and body if necessary: in fact, he'd been adamant since day one that he kept his glasses on when things got heated because 'there are details. Features, Pete. Features on your body and in your face', and I could always see the adoration in his eyes. He was always glancing down at my lips every five seconds.</p><p>When I spoke, Mikey listened like he wanted to know, not like he was waiting for me to stop. In fact, he hyper-analyzed every last bit of information and the oiled mechanisms ticked away behind his porcelain skin. </p><p>Oh god. Oh my god, oh god, oh my Jesus fuck. When did I get serious about this boy? </p><p>Obviously, I had thought very seriously and maturely about Mikey for a while, but this was different. Mikey had kissed me in front of his band, Mikey was as serious about me as I was about him; this was liberating. </p><p>I sat on stage with them that night as they performed, dangling my legs off of the amp af the back. I probably had this enormous, mushy grin on my face the whole time and I probably didn't care. I couldn't - and didn't want to - keep in my smile when they invited me to do their last song with them, blushing white-hot when Mikey passed me his bass guitar and adjusted the strap for me. </p><p>At the end of it all, it was relaxing to be back in bed with Mikey again. It felt right, because that's where the craziness started, and it was where everything was dripping back into normality again: with Mikey between my legs working his magic mouth and me trying desperately to keep my own fucking mouth shut because I knew that the guys could turn up at any second; they probably would, too, since we had a drive to Chicago tonight. There had been a congregation of us around a fire pit that had been assembled at the back of the small parking lot, a few people I didn't know playing kickball too - people definitely knew something was going down when Mikey pulled me up from my seat, stretched, and dragged me in the direction of his tour bus. We definitely didn't care. </p><p>"Mikeyway, you're really something", I whispered, pushing my hips upward, trying to feel as much of his wet mouth around me as I possibly could. "I'm, I- can you... can I have more? More anything?". Mikey seemed intrigued now, moving from round my cock with an obscene pop, his lips shiny and dripping with spit and pre-cum. <br/>"Look at you begging for it like a little bottom".<br/>"Don't push your luck", I shook my head. "I don't have a condom, we can't have sex, but I need... something". <br/>"That's where I become useful", he smirked, wiping his mouth with his sleeve like he'd done this thousands of times. <br/>"You can do anything". <br/>"Anything?", he repeated, coming up to kiss my open mouth. He tasted like sweat and my own musk, and I had to choke down a moan. <br/>"You little bitch. Seriously", I shook my head and grinned. "Anything within reason". </p><p>As soon as I sat up, his hands were going in to grab my hips and pull me into my lap, as his tongue was back under mine. As I licked the roof of his mouth, just testing, the noise of a phone buzzing sounded from the bottom of the bed. Mikey grabbed it and chuckled, showing me the screen. </p><p>It was my phone, and the bluntness of the "where are you?" message from Patrick was far too hilarious to be awkward, which it should've been, because how could he reply?</p><p>Where was he right now? I was letting Mikey kiss the inside of my thigh, biting a little to test his boundaries. He couldn't put that in a text to his brother, could he? I almost feared Patrick would be doing the same thing on my phone, but I had no idea where it was right now, so it was out of sight and out of mind. </p><p>"Come here. Come and kiss me", I slowly pulled him up so that I could drag the tip of my tongue across the vein in his neck, then get to work biting and sucking at his skin. Hickeys were a must when getting Mikey off - he bruised so easily and was so responsive. <br/>"I love this", he laced his fingers in mine. "I love you". <br/>"Fuck", my breathing hitched because of those three little words, then hitched again because the boy was so undone right now. "Mikes, I-". </p><p>He'd said it. He loved me. Why couldn't I say it back? </p><p>Another text from Patrick flashed up, asking "what are you doing?", which caused Mikey to snatch my phone, groan and angrily stab out a short reply before discarding the device beneath the pillow. <br/>"What did it say?". <br/>"It just said your name, actually". I lay back, pushing my hair out of my face, knowing that the whole ordeal was definitely suspicious but not really bothering to attempt any kind of damage control. I hardly even put two and two together when Mikey was quick to suck on two of his fingers. <br/>"You're the best", he shut his eyes and rested his head in the crease of my neck, so close that I could feel his long eyelashes tickling my skin. "You're just... incredible. I can't wait to meet your family". <br/>"I'm gonna fucking marry you, Mikeyway", my voice cracked unintentionally, overwhelmed by raw emotion. I didn't want to tell him I loved him in case it had just been a heat of the moment thing, so I hoped this soliloquy I was delivering was enough. "We'll get married outdoors and we'll write our own vows: it'd be something along the lines of - I love you heart and soul: you're my tiny little princess and I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you and have three kids". <br/>"Three kids", Mikey nodded. "A girl, a boy, and a little surprise. We fucking have to name one Bishop".<br/>I laughed, "why so adamant?".<br/>"Bishop is the name of the stage you first kissed me on", Mikey scrunched the edge of my t-shirt nervously between his fingers. "I really, really like you, Pete". <br/>"Ditto, Mikeyway. Ditto. I'm really going to miss you when tour ends".</p><p>But we didn't carry on the chat - that was the one conversation topic we always avoided. Instead, Mikey slipped a hand between my legs and I had no choice but to let my mind go blank.</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. fool me, fool me, oh how you do me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>My mom had always gone all out, decorating everything perfectly for the Fourth of July weekend. The second I'd walked up the driveway, gravel crunching familiarly under my feet, my step sister flung open the door and flew into my arms. I staggered back a little in surprise but was then fast to return the hug, loving the way she still smelt exactly like she had when I still lived at home. Wilmette wasn't where I belonged, but it was where I felt the most comfortable. </p><p>"Jessica!", I grinned, finally being released from her clutches when she noticed Patrick, Andy and Joe behind me and quickly ran to greet them. <br/>"My boys are back together", she smiled with an angelic glee and then turned to look at Mikey, standing shyly beside me. "Wait. You're not one of my boys". <br/>"Jessica, this is Mikeyway". <br/>"Hey, Mikeyway", she said, scoffing when he extended his hand for her to shake and pulling him into an embrace. "You're the vampire, right?". <br/>"I guess", Mikey had a sweet dumbfounded smirk when he looked at me, and I rubbed the space on my neck that he liked to work on out of habit. <br/>"Jess", my eyes almost popped out of my skull in sheer mortification. "Please".<br/>"I'm joking, I'm joking. I'm just glad my big brother is getting some".</p><p>How did she even know? I'd never once mentioned him or my sexuality to her. I suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious about the way I existed. Did I walk gay? Did I? </p><p>I was beginning to think that the Fourth of July weekend was going to be a very good memory: all apprehension of the small vacation and the inevitable 'coming outs' it would bring flew away when Mikey agreed to tag along. The rest of his band were going to Frank's parents' for the weekend anyway, and Mikey had - rather eloquently - said that he'd rather "ram a fork in both his eyes".  </p><p>Once we'd all bustled into the house, Jess pointed us in the direction of where the party was going to be held, grimacing as if to say, 'sorry that our mother is so extra'. Not an inch of my living room, kitchen or back yard was seen without an abundance of star-spangled materials, and there was already a large craft table lined with an assortment of red, white and blue paper cups and finger food. </p><p>"Looks good!", whooped Joe, almost entirely too excited for a little family get together. Jess laughed at him fondly. <br/>"Mom's gone all out this year", she stated an obvious tone to her voice. <br/>"Where is everyone?", Andy looked around, definitely meaning his fiancée and not anybody else relevant in the world. <br/>"Yara's in the spare room getting ready, Eliza's there too, taking a nap because her back hurts. I think mom's just gone to get some more ice from the garage, but I have no idea", Jessica shrugged, then looked at me. "Dad is probably out starting the grill. I'm halfway through my makeup, sorry, but I want to catch up later, okay?". I blew my sister a kiss as an okay and she ran back up the stairs, both of us fully aware that "later" she would be packed full of tequila shots and we would definitely not be able to catch up, because little miss sweet young and sweet did not know how to handle her drink, but then again, she was hardly seventeen. I'd give her a few years before I started to bully her about it. </p><p>Andy was fast to follow her, in search of his Yara like a lovesick puppy dog. Patrick followed suit shortly after, taking his bag with him and stating that he was going to wake Elisa up 'before she overdid it with the nap'. I think he just wanted to talk to her. I found that kind of cute. </p><p>"You sad that Hayden can't come?", I asked Joe, cracking up when I turned and saw his pouty face. <br/>He mumbled a sad, "as a matter of fact, yes. I'm the only one who isn't all coupled up because my girlfriend is a heartless bitch". <br/>"Joe, it's ex-girlfriend. When someone cheats on you with your cousin and tells you via text message the morning you're supposed to be seeing her, it's ex-girlfriend". <br/>"Aw, Joe. It would help if you let Pete and I tag team you, wouldn't it?", Mikey grinned. </p><p>As if he had just witnessed his heterosexuality collapse beneath him, Joe's face turned a bright red colour. He politely muttered an excuse and then backed away to escape outside, leaving me to excitedly show Mikey where he'd be sleeping tonight. </p><p>Although there was nothing magnificent about my childhood bedroom - nothing interesting about the navy walls, no joy sparked from the wayward skateboard - Mikey was quite magnificent, and he created magic just by standing in a room. He was genuinely breathtaking, in fact, with that fringe that framed his pale face perfectly.</p><p>There this gorgeously enticing human stood, there in my old bedroom, looking around as if he actually cared about his surroundings. I dumped my bag into the corner beside where he'd dropped his, watching the way he frowned at himself in the mirror, turning on angles and smoothening his clothes. It was only when he turned to face me that I stopped gawking.</p><p>"I'm nervous". </p><p>He'd said it to me, the exact phrasing that I had muttered only a few nights ago during our first time. Now he was in my position. </p><p>I shook my head at him and walked over to peck a kiss on his head. "Don't be, baby. Jess is sweet, you saw that. Our mom and dad are even sweeter. You know the guys, the girls are fine too - you know one of them - Eliza - and Yara is the exact same. It's just us, some stray neighbours that you don't have to talk to and a couple of my sister's friends". <br/>"I don't look right. The car ride made me look all... bedraggled". <br/>"You look perfect", I groaned, rolling my eyes. </p><p>That must have been his cue to smile and he did, looking down at the ground quite bashfully. He looked like fucking Bambi, and Bambi has always been my favourite movie. </p><p>"Do I look like a real boy?". <br/>"Okay, Pinocchio, what?", I grinned with intrigue and sat down on the bed. "What do you mean?". <br/>"Nothing...", Mikey hesitated but he pulled his hoodie over himself and sat next to me. "Well, I just meant - I meant are your family gonna like me? Or am I too grungy?". <br/>"You want them to like you?".<br/>"Of course".<br/>"Then be as grungy as you fucking want. You're a real boy, I have the pictures to prove it". </p><p>It was hard not to adore Mikeyway, and it may have been an exaggeration on my half but I couldn't stop staring at him. I didn't want to. I just had to sit back and think about other things, things such as the idea of liking someone I'd tried to not like.</p><p>"I'm gonna need those pictures back", he raised his eyebrow at me while I ushered him down the stairs and out into the yard. Sure enough, my dad was stood out there, talking to my mom who had her back to us. He spotted us first, opening his arms for a hug - my mom copied when she realised what had caught her husbands attention. I gladly walked into the hug and Mikey grinned from the sidelines. </p><p>"Here's our little rockstar", mom kissed my head, making me squirm in slight embarrassment but curl further into the embrace all the same. She had that soft, slightly plump, motherly figure that made her the best hugger, even if her curls did tickle my face whenever I was this close. My dad was the one to notice the skinny boy standing there silently. <br/>"Little rockstar has company, sweetheart", he smiled at Mikey and shook his hand. "I'm Tim".<br/>"Hey, I'm Mikey. I'm in one of the bands touring with Pete", he stated, almost being cut off by my mom who was eager to hug him. "I'm mom", she told him, and the elated smile that spread across his face was too adorable for me to tell him she made everyone call her that. I'd let him have this one. Let him believe he was being accepted as a part of the family. He was my family. </p><p>"So", dad looked between us both for a short minute, me instantly remembering I had a faded hickey high on my neck. Mikey's was lower down, almost on his collar bone, but it was still so bright against his complexion. He marked so easily. "How... what... what are you two...". <br/>"Mikey's my person", I said, slipping my hand into his. My mom nodded, beaming. My dad was less reactive but he patted my shoulder. <br/>"People are good", she said. <br/>"Having a person is... it's special", he said. </p><p>And that was it. They both knew without me having to specifically say anything, and that was perfect for the time being. </p><p>The transition from day into night happened within what seemed like seconds: the masses of people from the neighbourhood surging into the house; the woman chatting in the living room, eating the finger foods; the men out in the yard by the grill; the younger ones all in the kitchen, dancing and doing shots. Everyone was mingling and moving throughout the rooms at first, but was always how our parties ended up splitting as the night went on, and the kitchen was always party central. I'd probably had about six or seven shots, expecting the band to care. I don't think they did. It's not like I was hammered, just a happy kind of tipsy, clinging onto an equally intoxicated Mikey. Joe had disappeared out onto the porch to smoke something other than a cigarette with one of Jessica's friends, so something told me he had gotten over his ex already. Patrick and Eliza were dancing, though she looked like she needed to go to bed soon, holding her baby bump tiredly but still laughing and spinning and lighting up the room. </p><p>Jess and her best friend - Lucy? Louise? They all blended together after so many years - were fast to pull me up onto the kitchen island where they were dancing, and I suddenly found myself twirling around in a whirlwind of skyscraper heels and spaghetti strap dresses. I didn't get the fashion, but I respected it. I momentarily wished I was a girl so that I could dress hot. I was drunk. </p><p>The rest of the night was a whirlwind of shitty rave music. There's actually a large blank spot in my memory up until the part of the night where the party was dying down a little and Mikey Way dragged me out into the hall, instantly pressing my back up against the wall and putting his lips against mine. </p><p>"You're a tease", he whispered, not even backing away from me when a creaky floorboard warned that someone might be approaching. Thankfully, nobody did. "Up there, dancing like that. All night. Moving your hips and...". Mikey had frustratedly sucked his lower lip in between his teeth, and I felt my jeans get a tiny bit tighter than they were originally. <br/>"Did you just look me up and down and then bite your lip? Because if you did, we're having sex. Right now", I said, almost demanded. <br/>"Fuck you". <br/>"Buy me dinner first. Then we'll weigh out your chances", I laughed, watching Mikey come absolutely undone. "My parents would be royally mortified if they saw us right now. Even more mortified at what I'm thinking about doing to you". <br/>"You want to fuck me", Mikey said. Was that a statement? Or an invitation? <br/>"Of course I fucking do. God, the things I could do to that pretty body of yours-". <br/>"I want you to", the boy cut me off. "To do 'things'. I want it all... within reason". <br/>"You do?".<br/>"I do".</p><p>We ended up going back out into the yard for a little while, because I knew people would notice if I suddenly went missing, and though the festivities had almost entirely died down by now, I still managed to squeeze in a couple of random catchups with people I hadn't seen in years, like Sara from Jessica's dance class who I'd met when I first got my licence and became my sister's chauffeur for the next three years.  </p><p>When I thought mom and dad capturing Mikey, half-hard and grovelling for me in the hallway, I thought nothing could be more embarrassing. Turns out I was wrong. It would've been life-ruining if they'd needed - for whatever miscellaneous reason - to come upstairs and heard the desperate gasps of "harder" and "deeper" echoing from my childhood bedroom a couple of hours later. </p><p>I loved him. I would never have this connection with anyone else. I was fucking fucked. </p><p>And so was Mikeyway.</p>
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<a name="section0021"><h2>21. sweet music playing in the dark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was no doubt I liked falling asleep next to Mikeyway: I liked his soft breathing to keep me calm; the way his legs wrapped around mike; warmth when he wrapped his arms around me. </p><p>There were times, though, that I just needed to get away from a situation.</p><p>Mikey lay there beside me as I sat cross-legged and watched him, curled up, snoring a little, and I wondered how he could sleep through such a high. </p><p>See, I knew about comedowns. Knew about the cold sweats when the pills wore off and the never-ending headache after a three-day bender. This was different - sure, alcohol was involved, but that was irrelevant. I could handle my drink. I'd never had a problem with drinking. </p><p>It was the sex that was keeping me awake. </p><p>I felt overwhelmed by the smell of sex and the stains on the sheets that I'd have to remember to clean before I left. The sex was the real deal, the distracting factor that was making my head spin, enabling me from sleeping. I'd had half the mind to call him insane when he climbed off of me and instantly let his eyelids flicker shut. </p><p>"How are you sleeping right now? How can you even think about it?", I had teased, tickling him, and he'd squirmed and mumbled something unintelligible, but Mikey had been fast asleep before I could even suggest we go for round two. </p><p>That's why I was still awake at five in the morning. It's why I stood up and crept out of my room, being almost comically slow as to stay silent because the last thing I wanted was to wake up a house full of hungover people. Except for Jessica. It was different with Jess. I think we were twins in a different life, not just step-siblings. </p><p>My sister and I ended up at the local park, waiting for the sun to come up and exchanging nostalgic anecdotes. This was the place where she'd had her first kiss and we'd first gotten drunk and I'd broke my foot during the infamous monkey bars incident (which may or may not have been all on the same night, surprisingly). <br/>"What are you looking at, dickwad?", she grinned at me, sitting on the top of those same monkey bars that fifteen-year-old Pete had fallen off of and shattered his navicular bone. I shook my head. <br/>"Nothing... just watching the sky". <br/>"It's pitch black", she scoffed. Another head shake from me. <br/>"No, the stars are out. Mikey would love this". <br/>"That's twelve", Jess took a mocking tone that confused me almost as much as her comment did. I looked at her properly, raising my eyebrow as if I looked intimidating at all in my Star Wars pyjama pants and Mikey's favourite t-shirt. <br/>"Care to elaborate, Goldilocks?".<br/>"You must really like him a lot if you can mention him twelve times in twenty minutes", Jess shook her head but I saw the faintest glimmer of a smile on her lips. <br/>"I wouldn't get used to it. We just spend a lot of time together. I'm really into him", I stated, making Jess grimace.<br/>"I'll say", she sighed, and it became all too evident how thin the walls of our house really were. </p><p>It was when she joined me on the rickety old swing set that I knew what was coming, so I started to scrape at the fading red paint with my nail, sort of hoping for an interruption even though the neighbourhood was deadly silent at this time. There was no hope of succession in my avoidance. </p><p>"I think I could spend a long time with him", I smiled to myself. "He's changed a lot this summer. Like, positively".<br/>"He's really funny", my sister nodded. "I like his smile". <br/>"Yeah", I agreed, not bothering to explain to her that if she'd met him at the beginning of tour, Mikey wouldn't have smiled. Or made jokes. </p><p>He could still be his classic distant self sometimes, but I didn't mind. He was so... perfectly Mikey.</p><p>"Did you come out to mom and dad?", she asked, her left eye twitching from holding such an intense stare. I shook my head but then I thought about it. <br/>"They know enough". <br/>"Well so do I", she glared at me. "Our walls aren't soundproof. I never took you for being so vocal-".<br/>I cringed, cutting her off. "Duly noted". <br/>"So do you think you'll marry him?", she asked, and I felt myself cringing so much that changing the subject before I imploded was a complete necessity at this point. </p><p>Jessica seriously had me overthinking how much I spoke about Mikey. That bitch! She'd spoiled my only personality trait. </p><p>Jokes aside, it really was a lot. I became all too conscious of how many times per minute my brain linked a totally mundane, inanimate object with a memory of the boy. It got dumber and dumber as the morning went on. Hey, Andy, you're brushing your teeth? Haha, Mikey does that. </p><p>Mikey. Mikey, Mikey, Mikey. My head buzzed and span and repeated that sweet, sweet name for hours until I finally had the radio show to distract me. </p><p>I'd had a boring summer at this radio station when I was fifteen, and it felt wrong that I was now considered a "hometown hero".  </p><p>I didn't even recognise the guy who was hosting, which just goes to show how uncontrollably fast life changes, but he was wrapping up asking Joe something about relationships when I tuned back in. </p><p> "So, yeah, I'm single. I'm still the same guy I was from high school. Bad taste in girls and awesome taste in music".<br/>"So you're off girls?", the interviewer held the mic with a right grip, i noticed. As if he was going to float off if he let go.  <br/>"Sure". </p><p>He didn't mean to be blunt or snappy: he usually liked people, but his breakup with Hayden was still fresh. At least interviewer hadn't seemed to mind, moving on to willingly listen to Andy politely talk about a possible charity collaboration with green peace in the future. Patrick tapped my shoulder and whispered, "Sunglasses off. You're indoors, it's not the nineties anymore and you're not high". <br/>"I'm hungover", I whispered, and Patrick stared at me with the disapproving parent look until I caved. "Okay. Fine", I sighed and passed him my accessories. Then I looked over at Mikey standing outside the booth. </p><p>He was wearing a button-up today - a baby pink one as if he needed to soften up his image any more than it already was. </p><p>"We're all more brothers than we are friends", Andy said, looking over at Patrick. "If I'm the dad, he's the well behaved eldest child". <br/>"So who's the baby of the family?", the interviewer smirked. Patrick easily answered this one. <br/>"Are you kidding? Pete is the baby. All these guys are the epicentre of my world, but we all love Petey. Course, he and I fight a lot, but that's what siblings do. He's my baby brother". <br/>"Exactly!", Joe said, grinning. "He's everyone's unbiased favourite, even if he has zero impulse control". <br/>"Am I?", I said, and the interviewer's eyes lit up because this was the first time I had seemed interested at all. <br/>"Pete, let's talk about you", he said, and I thought I knew what was coming. </p><p>This was it. Hold your breath and try not to throw up, Pete. All you had to do was talk about your trauma and drone on about some "but it's made me a stronger person" bullshit. </p><p>"There have been a couple of rumours regarding your sexuality, more importantly, your close relationship with Mikey Way, the bassist of Vida Muerte". </p><p>Oh! </p><p>Oh. </p><p>Okay, I should be thankful that it wasn't the question I was dreading. But in a way, I hated this one even more. </p><p>"I'm close with him, yeah. We're friends", I fiddled nonchalantly with the hem of my shirt like his name meant nothing to me. I cracked a tiny smile. "We met at a party and he helped me out, then we ended hanging out a few days later. We talked about life and music, that's kinda it". There was a burning in the back of my throat but Joe came to the rescue. <br/>"I honestly think Pete and Mikey are totally opposites, personality-wise. Pete is so much flashier than him but the thing is, they're the two youngest, so they have this special connection. Mikey has taken his laid back self and applied it to Pete, and now Pete isn't as restless. Mikey Way's a good egg". <br/>"That he is", I nodded, but I didn't look st Mikey. I was too busy stopping my face from flushing red under the heat from his eyes that I could feel burning into my face, even through the glass screen. </p><p>Mikey Way was smiling at him, and for some reason, it was making my heart flip. </p><p>"Thank you, Planet Honey Pop, it's really great talking to you and I can't wait to hear more about tour life and the possibility of a fourth album, right after this song", he said, and I really genuinely thought everything was going smoothly. </p><p>I recognised the song on the first melancholy beat. </p><p>It was a too-sweet tune that left a crippling and bitter taste. Like magic, I was back in my car. Back in that parking lot. I was back in a coma again. </p><p>Hallelujah. </p><p>Hal. Le. Lu. Jah.</p>
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<a name="section0022"><h2>22. lay where you’re laying, don’t make a sound</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I think he's overwhelmed", Patrick was saying, voice hushed but not enough for me not to hear, standing on the other side of the screen door. "He... he hasn't been taking his meds". <br/>"What?", the other voice was unfamiliar and I slowly realized Brad had come over from the management bus. Prick. He only cared about me now that I'd stopped being compliant. </p><p>Patrick sighed and cleared his throat awkwardly, and I could almost picture the apologetic look he'd be throwing out manager right now. <br/>"Look, we really thought he was handling it. How were we supposed to know that he'd get triggered by the song?".<br/>"He's a brilliant actor, Patrick, you know that more than anyone. The kid will say he's okay but he's not and he won't ever be if you carry on believing him all the time. It's ridiculous at this point - he passed out live on air. Have you seen what the tabloids are saying? On top of all that he's parading around with that bassist-".<br/>Patrick coughed, clearly uncomfortable. "I don't think his friendships are really relevant right now".<br/>"You know exactly what everybody's saying. Hell, you can try to keep it from his as long as you want but the World Wide Web is worldwide, Patrick. A few clicks of a mouse and Pete sees what everyone has to say about this little faggy publicity stunt he's pulling off. You can't seriously believe I want to manage someone like that". </p><p>Actually, I knew exactly what they were talking about. </p><p>“Pete Wentz of Planet Honey Pop: gay below the belt? <br/>Illicit, implicit and a little explicit: It seems as if the heartthrob-bassist and frontman of the cherished alternative band has found his happily ever after below the waist at this years' Eightbit. From being spotted staying late on each other's tour busses, to Pete watching his rumoured boyfriend's sets with a loved up expression, the internet's favorite theory at the moment all started on the first leg of the summer tour when Pete, 21, was spotted getting friendly with fellow bassist of band Vida Muerte, Mikey Way, 19. The two bands are arguably the best of this summer's entire lineup, and while two incredibly talented bands making friends from spending such a long period of time together is not necessarily news, the image of our very own Pete sporting matching hickeys with Way just might be. After several photos, online interactions and insider stories leaked perpetuating the two as a couple, it has lead us all to question the Planet Honey Pop bassist's ever-ambiguous sexuality. The budding relationship has sparked the attention of several demographics - because if their absolute adorable public displays of affection weren't enough to entice the loyal fanbase who have been waiting for Wentz to confirm his sexuality for years, the lovebirds have also stirred up quite a ruckus in terms of controversy as earlier in the year 'Cosmic Records'  faced no repercussions after dropping Benji - a singer-songwriter, 23, from Ohio - after he came out as transgender. Since this major record label was able to discriminate against someone so easily, times are increasingly hard for queer artists in this industry. With a desperate need for shameless representation and normalized gay subtext, we're all desperately awaiting confirmation of this relationship, even if it may wreck both of their current careers.”  </p><p>"I know, okay - it scares me, Brad. It does. I hate seeing them talk about him the way they do - as if it's any of their business - but I also hate seeing him invest so much time in Mikey. If he gets his heart broken he'll die, Brad. He'll fucking die. But this is irrelevant. The important thing right now is that I think it'll be okay to let him sit this one out", Patrick said, and I suddenly felt a wave of relief hit me as I lay silently in my bunk. I couldn't face anyone right now. Patrick sounded angry as if he was clenching his jaw and trying not to freak out. Part of me wanted to kick and scream and cry. Why hadn't he come to my defense? Was I really so insignificant? Did he really feel like that?  <br/>"He'll be okay, he's got our numbers and he's got Keep On Keeping On if there's an emergency". <br/>"Some company founder he is", Brad continued, spitefully. "I've had Chloe and Axel answering all the business calls for that for the last year". </p><p>"That's because I've been doing my music, dick", I whispered to myself as the voice grew silent, it becoming all too evident that they'd gone. Left me to do the show that I'd refused to do, just like they'd gone to do soundcheck without me earlier on. </p><p>I don't know if I was more hurt that my best friend didn't trust me, or that a man who was technically a stranger was judging me. </p><p>My body was fucking numb. </p><p>I felt like, ever since I'd heard that damned song blasting and instantly fallen to the ground, that my body was encapsulated in a thick layer of barbed wire, and I couldn't escape for fear of hurting myself or someone else, so I just had to lie here and become accustomed to feeling comfortably comatose.</p><p>A bang and then the familiar hiss of the tour bus door opening made it all too apparent that someone had come back to look after me as if I was a six-year-old child or on suicide watch. Normal people were allowed to just be sad, but alas, I wasn't normal people. Fifteen minutes. That's how long I had everyone's trust to stay alone. </p><p>Before I even looked up, I could already tell what the source of the noise was going to be. It was going to be Mikey. It was always Mikey. Sweet, sweet Mikeyway. </p><p>Sure enough, there he was, sliding open the door and then shutting it again behind him. It took me a minute to acknowledge the boy as he came and crouched beside where I lay staring blankly at the wall because I assumed he wanted to speak first. And also because I didn't have the energy to speak first. </p><p>"Joe gave me his key... I walked over to your set and asked where you were, so they told me, and I couldn't possibly leave you alone", he nodded towards my phone. "I've been calling you. All night, all morning... all day".  <br/>"I know", I said, and then I re-evaluated my unnecessary bluntness. "You're... thanks. You're here", I said. <br/>"Did I wake you?", he smiled a little, holding my cold hand. "God, sorry. I should let you rest, shouldn't I?". <br/>"No, no. It's fine. I... there was a song, and I- the car, the hospital... my family and Patrick and... I just. Well, I feel pretty shit at the moment". </p><p>I was hardly being coherent yet Mikey wasn't stopping me or being dismissive or harsh with his words. He wasn't stating that I was overwhelmed or that I was unreliable, and he wasn't asking me if I was okay. Mikey was genuinely here to make me happy. </p><p>In fact, he was listening. He cocked his head to the side and played with my hair. This felt like a meeting with my shrink, but way more intimate. </p><p>"I promised my fans. I promise the band. And look at me... I'm not there tonight. I'm a disappointment". <br/>"No, you're not, baby boy".<br/>"I'm a disappointment who needs a shower. I can't muster the energy to even stand up alone right now, not... I'm sorry, I'm greasy and I stink". <br/>"Come on", Mikey shook his head at me and pulled me out of the bed. I was reluctant at first, cold and awkward in my boxers and my hoodie, but he let me lean into his side as we walked through the bus and I felt stable. </p><p>"You can't shower in clothes. Clothes off, c'mon", Mikey demanded when we got into the bathroom, sitting me down on the toilet seat and turning around to turn on the shower. When he turned back to me, he must've seen me struggling to pull my clothes all the way over my head, because he let out a sigh and grabbed my hoodie sleeves, pulling the fabric off of me. <br/>"Hi", I said, looking at him face to face. He had pretty eyes. <br/>"Hey", Mikey said back, planting a gentle kiss on my forehead. "You need to take an antidepressant". <br/>"I'm scared, Mikes", I finally let myself admit; it felt good to get it out there, especially after keeping it in for so long. <br/>"I know", he nodded, understanding. I didn't even have to mention anything - my overdose, my addiction. Mikey knew, and I knew I could always rely on him. <br/>"It's the Prozac", I said, and he opened up the cabinet above the bathroom and sighed. <br/>"Maybe later, though, right?". <br/>"Yeah, Mikeyway. I'll take one later".  <br/>"Shower first. You can do your bottom half can't you?", he asked, a little condescending but the question was genuine because as it turned out, the answer was no - I was too broken to take off a pair of boxers. At least he didn't laugh when he helped me out of them. </p><p>This wasn't even sexual in the slightest, and that's how I knew that Mikey and I were on a different plane of understanding: he just wanted to look after me right now. To care for me and help me out. If we were still as reckless as we were at the start of the summer, there would have been so much opportunity for us to let this situation take a sexual turn - we had grown. We didn't just care about getting off. We cared about each other. </p><p>Mikey Way cared about me enough to take off his clothes and join me in the shower; disregard every extensive issue he had with his body in order to help me through my rough patch. </p><p>"This good?", he asked as I let the water hit the front of my body, standing behind me for support and running shampoo through my hair. It felt really nice to be cared for. I hadn't had this since I was a child. <br/>"It's good, Mikeyway. You're good", I said, speaking what was probably my first coherent sentence. "I feel normal". <br/>"You're far from normal", Mikey laughed, kissing my back, right between my shoulder blades. "Never be normal. It's overrated. Promise you'll just always be you". <br/>"I promise, Mikes".  <br/>"Good".</p>
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<a name="section0023"><h2>23. this thing called love, i just can’t handle it</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>My hair was still damp but I couldn't complain because I was finally rid of that heavy, gritty, overwhelmed sensation. Mikey seemed happy too. I was glad I could make him happy. </p><p>My hand was ghosting on Mikey's ass through his skinny jeans when he finally popped the question. </p><p>"Was just wondering, Petey. What are we?", he cocked his head to the side slightly and I slid my hand into his back pocket so that I could pull him down against me. <br/>"What do you wanna be?", I bit my lip and then traced a tentative finger across his own. The Prozac was kicking in. I felt foggy. <br/>"Well", he hooked one leg up so that I could get the grip on him that he loved so much, and also spread his fingers lazily across my chest. "We're good, aren't we? Like, for a summer fling?". I sighed, chest tightening up: subconsciously I knew that that was all we were, but Mikey putting it into words still jarred me - the thought of having to forget all about Mikey when summer ended hurt like a knife. <br/>"We're really fucking good". I wasn't lying, because the butterflies in my stomach, whenever I thought about him, were even more violent these days. <br/>"So good", he paused so I could kiss his familiar lips, "... I wish we didn't have to hide. I like hanging out with you... and other stuff". <br/>"Sex stuff", I more stated than asked, and his cheeks went red to match his noses permanent blush. <br/>"Not just sex things. I mean meeting your mom and hanging with the band - I really fucking like you, Pete. I think I love you, actually". </p><p>"Come here", I whispered deeply, leaning in to kiss him so slowly that the tension made my stomach bubble. <br/>"When I was going through my rough patch I always considered what it would be like if I just ran away with... you know... and get married on a cruise ship with Taxi Driver playing in the background", he looked straight into my eyes to see how I would react. I didn't really react at all, and he let out a breath of relief. <br/>"You love the guy that hurt you. He was married, and he took advantage of you-". <br/>"I really thought I fucking loved him. But I didn't. Don't. I love you, actually, and I... you don't have to love me back, you know", the boy added bashfully. "You let it slip when we were making out, so I accidentally told you the other day, but if you just said it in the heat of the moment then it's fine, I'll just-".<br/>"I know I don't have to. But I do".<br/>"Yeah?", he asked me to clarify, his shoulders relaxing. </p><p>What was love? (Baby, don't hurt me) </p><p>I'd always thought of such a sappy emotion to be that of a social construct, created by lonely people to make them feel less lonely. In my youth, I'd strongly believed that it was a scam. A scam I wouldn't fall for. </p><p>The prospect of love now meant so much more, on account of the fact that it actually meant something: it meant having that warm body to curl up to, having that voice that could talk you down, having those eyes to kill you but the lips that brought you back to life again. Love to me meant Mikeyway now. Truly, madly, deeply. </p><p>Mikey. My Mikey. Sweet, sweet Mikey who had kissed my forehead and ran shampoo through my hair and pulled me in close because I didn't have the energy to stand for myself. My gorgeous, helpful person who'd seen me at my all-time lowest and still liked me. Still loved me, actually. </p><p>"Yeah, Mikeyway. I could never be mad at you for... yeah, I really fucking love you". <br/>"Oh! Oh, okay, I... so... we're like... together? The sweet little dudes?". <br/>"Mikey James Way, will you be my fucking Eightbit tour boyfriend?", I rolled my eyes and he wrapped his arms around my waist in a horizontal interpretation of a hug. <br/>"I would be honored to".</p><p>"Right, well, let me go and do my hair ", he fidgeted and tried to get up, but I slipped my free hand up the back of his jumper and he settled again. <br/>"Shut the fuck up", I kissed his head. "Can we stay friends when tour ends?", he asked, and I could've hit him right there. What did he think I was going to do? Forget he loved me as soon as the sky faded grey again? </p><p>I was feeding into the fantasy of having a boyfriend so much that I hadn't fully comprehended the jacked-up situation, in which come August / September time, I would be single, and Mikey Way would go back to being the bassist of a band I knew, and I'd still have to keep a cool face around him. The torture of small talk with somebody I used to know. </p><p>I didn't care. We'd had lots of photos taken together, not to mention so many late-might, semi-flirty social media interactions this summer, so it was safe to say people were assuming things. Correct things. And I didn't really mind. </p><p>Mikeyway was my warpedtourboyfriend: I'd get that engraved on our wedding rings if we ever made it through to Fall.  </p><p>"We'll talk about it. About summer ending. About things", I said. Mikey shook his head lightly. <br/>"Later". It was such a casual phrase. It made it seem like we had all the time in the world - though, I suppose summers on tour were always quite extended. They had you wondering if Phineas and Ferb was really that far fetched. <br/>"If not now, when?", I asked. <br/>Mikey smiled, simply staying, "when I'm done with you".</p>
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<a name="section0024"><h2>24. go hard this weekend</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mikey groaned, his normally steady voice cracking uneasily, choking on his words. <br/>"Fuck. So good, Pete. You're doing so good", he whimpered and lowered himself down onto my cock. </p><p>The last time we did this, we were far too gone to make it go the way we wanted. Sure, it was good, but I hardly remembered anything that happened in my parent's house with the fireworks going off outside and the distant sounds of dogs howling. Now we were sober and bright-eyed and arguably the most desperate we'd ever been. This time, we fucking loved each other. </p><p>Mikey's mouth inevitably fell open and all that tumbled out was a low grunt as I desperately rocked my hips. Jesus Christ. My cock was inside of Mikey. </p><p>"You okay, Mikeyway?", I inquired, Mikey wrapping his right arm around my neck as he lifted himself up and back down slowly. <br/>"Yeah, I'm- shit. This is perfect. Breathe," he murmured into the top of my hair as if I were the vulnerable one right now. Maybe I was. I probably was. </p><p>I had thought nothing could make me feel as vulnerable as the first time I grabbed life by the horns and kissed Mikey. But this, right here — the knowledge that the boy trusted me and wanted me, wanted me like this — fuck, I'd never felt so close to anyone in my entire life.</p><p>"We all adjusted here?", I asked, to which Mikey sped up the motion of his rocking. <br/>"Yes - wanna ride you, Pete". <br/>"Jesus- yeah, alright", I cooed and then took a sharp breath in because in seconds Mikey was bouncing himself up and down on me and moaning. He was actually moaning, these dainty noises escaping from his parted lips and eyes closed in pleasure. My hands stopped tracing his hips as I instead brought them up to ghost the nape of his neck. </p><p>When I pulled him into a rough kiss, the change in angle was enough to make the submissive boy let out a desperate gasp. <br/>"This... perfect", he whispered into my mouth, and I took this moment as an advantage to slip my tongue between his teeth.</p><p>Mikey liked using tongue, he was always trying to shove his to the back of my throat, and it was weird for me: not weird bad. No, it was actually weirdly perfect. The few people I'd hooked up with in my short time as a player had absolutely despised tongue so I'd had a lack thereof. Now, with Mikey, I didn't just get what I wanted - I got what we both wanted. And I got it a lot. </p><p>I needed to spur myself along, so I switched up our position and reasserted my dominance by being on top. Mikey was almost there now, his cock leaking between our bodies and chest flushed red, and I knew it was slightly premature but he'd only ever been with one other person, unlike me. I didn't want him to feel insecure, not at all because it wasn't like this wasn't a big deal for me either. Neither of us had ever had sex with someone who actually loved us. I loved Mikey Way. Best of all, Mikey Way loved me. </p><p>We were going so slowly; it was so intimate and passionate and I kept planting kisses all over his gorgeous body with my soft lips. Mikey was enjoying it, he kept moaning that he was, but when I checked up again after another few seconds, he took in a sharp breath. <br/>"Actually, Pete, just - stop a sec", he whispered, sort of breathless. And sure, the shaking feeling in my legs I felt when I pulled out and took off the half-used condom was enough to send me straight back into my reckless horny teenage years, but I wasn't about to be that guy who pushes someone further. I'd especially never make Mikey uncomfortable. </p><p>He searched around in the dim bunk, hands frantic until they found the covers and pulled them over himself. I noticed he was shaking before he disappeared beneath the comforter fort. I was fucking distraught. </p><p>"Mikes, I- what the fuck. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?", I scrambled under the blankets too, mostly because I wanted to see if he was okay, partially because I was naked and it was cold now that I wasn't in motion. </p><p>I didn't put my head underneath to see him, but I felt Mikey wrap his long arms around my body and before I knew it he had emerged and was burrowing his head into my neck. <br/>"I'm sorry", he said softly. "You didn't hurt me - actually, that was so perfect". <br/>"Then what happened?", I felt a wave of relief wash over me, tangling my fingers up in the boy's messy locks. He looked up at me with sex hair and puffy eyes and a desperate smile. <br/>"Sometimes, all of a sudden, I hate my body. I hate the scars on my chest and the extra skin around the surgery area and I really can't stand my bony hips or how you can feel my ribs way more than you're supposed to. With him... William... sex was quick and forced - there wasn't any time for me to feel vulnerable, or any need really because he didn't even really like me. I can be that same slutty, carefree Mikey with you to an extent but... sex is different because we both like it, and I didn't know how to handle it". <br/>"You don't have to pretend to be anyone else for me, Mikeyway. I fell in love with you. With your eyes and your long legs and the way you say my name in your jersey accent", I laughed a little, probably a bit nervously. He finally smiled at me.</p><p>"I love you. Mikes, I'm so fucking sorry that I made you feel uncomfortable. We don't have to take the next step again, I'm good just holding hands till marriage. The good old fashioned Mormon way". <br/>"Baby boy, you couldn't ever make me feel uncomfortable. It was me getting too into my own head... Jesus, you think that I didn't like that? Pete, that was... my anxiety just came and fucked it up. God... I'm just so... I'm fucking repulsive".</p><p>Shit. Okay, ouch. </p><p>That was the sound of my heart smashing to the ground and shattering past the point of repair. I couldn't believe he could find himself ugly: Mikey was the single most captivating, beautiful and ethereal human I'd ever laid eyes upon. I was fairly certain that a couple of scars wouldn't tarnish that title. </p><p>"I can't instantly change the way you see yourself by telling you this think you're perfect, Mikes, but please don't ever talk bad about yourself again. Don't break my heart like that", my voice was trembling. <br/>"Pete-".<br/>"Mikey. You're beautiful to me... is that not enough? You light up a room every time you walk into it, and you can make my whole week just by looking at me. You made me take an antidepressant. I don't think you realize how big of a fear I overcame because of you. If you weren't ready to do this - like actually do this sober and committed - then I'm so sorry if I pushed you". <br/>"God no", he said, almost shocked. "I want to start... y'know... having sex with you. We're gonna get really good at it, actually. I just needed a minute to get comfortable". Mikey sat up, and after a bit of manoeuvring, he was in my lap again. </p><p>"How good?", I grinned, running a hand over the small of his back, eventually letting it rest on his waist. <br/>"Why don't I show you?".<br/>"Yeah", I sighed out. "Take control. Your pace. I like you". Mikey hummed, stroking my face, tilting my chin upwards so that he could meet me in a perfect kiss. <br/>"You like me?". <br/>"I like it when you call me baby boy". <br/>"Ah, yeah. I thought you'd notice. I'm trying something new", Mikes seemed proud of his fete. <br/>"I prefer it over short stack", I mumbled, but the sentence was barely eligible because he was using the oldest trick in the book to make me shut my god damn mouth.</p><p>he was kissing me. </p><p>again. </p><p>he never stopped being perfect.</p>
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<a name="section0025"><h2>25. just what summer meant to me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Why is summer so important to you, Pete?". </p><p>The question had been plaguing me since a freelance music journalist had stopped me earlier, before our set, and asked me a couple of questions. I knew it'd get printed in some online magazine somewhere, so I definitely couldn't pour out my heart. </p><p>I couldn't tell him that all my favorite memories occurred during hot summer days when the air was thick and humid and the grass was greener and the birds seemed more frivolous in their flying: Planet Honey Pop got signed in summer; I set up Keep On Keeping On in the summer; fuck, I even met Mikey Way in the summer. </p><p>So I went with something less personal. I just did a blanket answer, telling this man that "I like summer because summer always changes my perspective on things". I'd wrapped up my answer with a nice little bow and kept it all to myself, just the way I wanted it to be. Personal. Special. A gift for making it this far. </p><p>Summer was special right now, stood outside of my tour bus while the rest of my band got ready to head off, looking at the stars. There was no light pollution here; the constellations were twinkling gratefully. I tried to remember the things about stargazing I'd learned. </p><p>I had gone straight back to the bus after our set instead of hanging around and mingling because I'd been trying to find time to reply to my business emails for a while now, and it seemed like the best (and only) time. Now we were getting ready to hit the road, which meant I hadn't actually gotten to see Mikey yet. </p><p>The lot was almost entirely deserted now, bar a few stray busses. Vaguely recognizable twenty-something celebrities stepped out of some to smoke a last cigarette or stretch or make a last-minute phone call, but I was uninterested in them. They all went back into their busses ready to drive away. Most of them did drive away. I didn't know what they did. I didn't care. The Vida bus was the one I was staring at, waiting for the tour bus to either drive away hiss open...</p><p>And alas, it did the latter. And he spotted me straight away. </p><p>"Mikey!", I beamed as he approached, genuinely happy to see him."How was your set?", I asked, stroking the side of his face. He pouted a little then and spoke for the first time. <br/>"Crappy without you there". <br/>"Oh, diddums. I had work to do. Come here", I said to him, pulling him in for a dangerously open kiss by balling up the bottom of his shirt. Mikey let out a laugh - he had such a sweet laugh. So carefree and airy just like July. <br/>"Out here?", he looked around. We were in view of about six other busses. <br/>"Maybe not", I nodded. He grinned too, leaning in for another kiss, but I stopped him. "Mikey Way, is that a hickey?", I teased and tried to grab at his collar and get a closer look but he laughed and threw his hands up defensively, smacking me away, and making a scene out of pointing out my equally fucked up neck - though it wasn't actually equal at all, because one small red mark on Mikeyway's collar bone did not equate to a whole load of them on me, high up and out in the open. </p><p>The band noticed first, of course. Then fans noticed during the show, and I was almost thankful for not having to go out into the crowd and mingle with them afterward just because it meant I could avoid questions. My mom had asked enough of those when she'd video chatted me earlier and I'd answered the call without thinking. Jessica was the one who appeared in the camera frame and stared cackling at me - I'd had to tell her to shut her mouth, or need I remind her how many times I'd covered for her growing up. </p><p>"Yes, it is, and Gerard wants to murder us both. Thanks, by the way", he rubbed it bashfully and looked around. "I'm tired". <br/>"We should go to IHOP". <br/>"It's one in the morning and we're about to drive to a different state, baby boy. I don't think we should go to IHOP". <br/>"You complain that you're too skinny and then turn down that offer? It's not genetics, Mikeyway, it's too much coffee and not enough international pancake house", I shook my head and raised an eyebrow at him, but our conversation was cut off by a sleepy interruption. </p><p>Gerard's eyes had dark circles under them and were smudged with eyeliner, and his hair was sticking up at that back. It was either this or his pajamas that alluded to the fact he was definitely not driving the bus tonight.</p><p>"Morning", he said, taking a cigarette and a lighter from the pocket of his robe and looking at it contemplatively before sighing and putting the items back where they'd come from. <br/>"Something like that", I whispered, eyeing him up. "What's up?". <br/>"You gonna quit again?", Mikey knew. His brother nodded, putting an arm around him in a weak, tired interpretation of a hug.<br/>"Have to", he said. Mikey nodded. "What are you two up to?". </p><p>This was just Gerard looking for a distraction; wanting to know about Mikey and I to keep his mind occupied - or perhaps he was nosey. I wouldn't put that past him. Mikey slid his glasses back up his nose - they had a habit of falling down - and shrugged. <br/>"Sleep is the best bet". <br/>"But also seems quite impossible right now", I added, and Gerard laughed. I didn't think I'd heard him laugh yet. It was nice. <br/>"I'll drink to that", the older boy nodded, then rolled his eyes at Mikey's disapproving look. "I didn't mean it like that, Mikes, for God's sake".</p><p>I noticed him eyeing up my hickeys, and I couldn't imagine what was going through his head. The state of my neck must've seemed like utter carnage to the average eye, though to me my bites were pretty. Gerard must've been at least a little bit stunned, if not entirely mortified, at how much damage his baby brother had done.</p><p>Thankfully, he didn't say anything, just gave me a thin-lipped, forced smile. <br/>"So things are okay between you two... that's good...", Gerard said and I might have cringed a little. Mikey visibly shook. <br/>"Gee".<br/>"No, I love it when my little brother becomes a vampire all of a sudden", Gerard shrugged, grinning for the first time. He had a pretty average smile, but if Gerard was happy then the world was happy, so the grin's rare appearance meant a lot. "How are you, anyway, shortstack? Besides the fact your neck looks like a crash site, you feeling any better?", he asked, and it seemed (under the stoic expression in his beady eyes) that he actually cared. I was glad to hear that Mikey's nickname for me had gotten round to Gerard. </p><p>"You know what...", I looked at the younger Way sibling as if to spark some telepathic connection, hoping he knew my, "I think... I'm good", actually just meant, I love you, and that finally makes everything okay.</p><p>It was the obvious frustration in Joe's voice when I finally tuned into him shouting me to get on the bus that made our goodbyes so quick; by the time I'd given him a goodbye hug and was back inside, I already missed him. </p><p>I texted him that, and he replied with a simple "you saw me fifteen seconds ago", followed a long minute later by "...miss you", almost as if he was retracting his bluntness. Turning over a new leaf. Being a better person. </p><p>Mikey didn't sleep on my bus that night, and I couldn't lay in his warmth, but he did call me when I started to get tired so that I could hear him breathing. It relaxed me hearing how I could match my exhales with his, and it felt like this is really where we were supposed to be. Here, together, no struggles or worries or obstacles. Just zen. Just us. Just Mikey and Pete.</p>
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<a name="section0026"><h2>26. recount the night that i first met your mother</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The fact that we were in New Jersey had generally excited both of the Way siblings, Mikey in particular. </p><p>It had been great sneaking kisses with Mikey and exchanging looks. Besides all the new physical stuff, things were normal, and my music taste had been expanded from a one-bed flat to a vast mansion, courtesy of the lanky boy. </p><p>Yes, Patrick was my brother and I adored him endlessly but he was being responsible and resting his voice, which I labeled as boring and sauntered off to the Vida bus only to find Frank, Mikey, and Gerard getting ready to leave. </p><p>They were all leaving Ray alone to go and visit the Way's family estate overnight; he seemed pretty content with having some peace until their show the next night, mentioning that he might even go catch a movie with my band. He actually seemed desperate not to go, which should’ve been a red flag. </p><p>I don't know why, but I'd been granted an invitation to join them. It was sort of like when you were nine and your mom let you bring a friend on holiday with you so that you weren't bored around all the grown-ups. That's how Mikey and I were treated - like two kids needy of entertainment - but we'd take what we had to in order to get some alone time, hot food and an actual bed. </p><p>Why had they waylaid their departure in order for me to participate in my already scheduled rehearsal and pack a backpack full of whatever was in my peripheral vision? How was I was sitting beside Mikey at his dining table, mingling with all six of his siblings that he'd never seemed to like to mention? </p><p>Mikey was the middle child, and I decided that the middle was where he was comfortable being. It didn't shock me one bit.</p><p>Their mom, Donna, was absolutely stunning, and though with her blonde hair and tiny physique she could be mistaken as a trophy wife, she was far from a pushover - in fact, she left evidence on all of the mantles in their large home that she was a successful businesswoman. She sort of scared me. She seemed to scare Gerard too. </p><p>Their dad, Arthur, was my new hero, a former marine turned firefighter, and mediocre musician in his younger days, who bought Mikey my first guitar and gave him his first vinyl. I could tell Gerard was closer with his dad than he was with his mom. I didn’t ask anything though.</p><p>The oldest of the Way Siblings were twins, Margot and Jamie, who both had the same silvery blonde hair I gathered Mikey once had (from, much to his dismay, seeing his childhood photos). They were both twenty-five, I found when I got chatting to them. Margot was a former Yale Drama student whereas Michael was once an attendee of Harvard Law, so I was looking forward to their debates about who's college was better (Gerard had mentioned that they were both very proud of their old colleges. Almost too proud). </p><p>The first of the younger sister's, Gemma, was sixteen - she didn't speak much (like Mikey) and she was all long legs and skinny arms (like Mikey) but she was the first person who gave me some sort of clue as to where to sit, so I thought highly of her in my personal mental ranking. </p><p>Then it was Coraline: she was your typical edgy preteen going through some fucked up kind of phase, all blonde hair and pouty lips and almost unbearably angst-ridden (because eight graders were just so misunderstood, mom). When we first arrived, she was genuinely having an emotional meltdown because her mom wouldn't let her get her belly button pierced. God save her soul. </p><p>The last sibling was 6-year-old Maxwell, with a face that read "butter wouldn't melt". <br/>"He's a little ankle-biter", Mikey pointed a finger at him and piled potatoes into my plate. We both laughed. I don't think he was joking. <br/>"Cute", I said to him, making sure everybody was too busy piling their plates high with food to notice. He knocked his knee against mine, overly flirtatiously, and I snorted out a pathetic little laugh. That's when his mom caught on and raised her eyebrow. <br/>"Something funny about roast chicken, Pete?".<br/>"No, ma'am", I smiled, "The chicken is relatively unhumorous this evening".<br/>"Yeah, it's probably the roast potatoes that are the funnier ones. That's why they take top billing", Mikey grinned, cracking a smile on everyone's faces; he always had the ability to make a whole room smile.<br/>"Come see it on Broadway, it's a brilliant new 5-star comedy roadshow", he continued, popping one of the roast potatoes in question into his mouth with a flourish.<br/>"Well I'm glad everything's alright", she said and then willingly turned her attention to me again. "When Gerard called and told us that Michael was bringing a friend home I had to rush some things".<br/>"Sorry, Ma'am". <br/>"Oh, it's fine, sweetheart. A friend of Mikey's is a friend of this family. And call me Donna, please". </p><p>Everyone was filling me in with details of their personal life and allowing me to do the same and I felt so included, wrapped up in the bustling energy. And the food was really good, too. Which was an advantage. </p><p>"How about a nightcap?", Arthur suggested when everyone around the table had finally done. It seemed to me like we were saying goodbye at the end of a fancy night out - not that this wasn't fancy, I mean, judge that by the sheer fact they even had a ‘formal dining room’ - but we were inside. And they all lived here. Why were we being so formal?</p><p>Margot nodded in glee, asking her dad if they had any whiskey, to which he laughed and looked at me. <br/>"A chip off the old block, this one. Right, come on then. Who else?". <br/>"I'll clean up", Gemma sighed but didn't seem put off by the task, as if she was used to it. Gerard took Frank's hand. <br/>"We can help".<br/>"Wait, hang on", Coraline pitched in, typical whiney little girl voice all too demanding to be endearing. "Gee, you need to help me with my algebra". <br/>"I'm still here", Jamie laughed and ruffled his little sister's hair. She stopped her pouting and leaned into his side, and I could see that she definitely had a soft spot for him. "Come on then". <br/>"Thanks, J", she grinned, waving a sweet, delicate goodbye at us all as the two disappeared to the staircase, while the others went off to their respective activities. </p><p>I thought that after that it was all going to go swimmingly and that everyone would one by one dismiss themselves until Mikey and I were left alone and unsupervised, but I was surprised when Mikey told me he was just 'putting Max to bed'. I watched in silent fear as he scooped his baby brother up under one arm, the younger boy squirming and kicking but his tribulations not having any effect.<br/>"Come on, mighty max", he span around to disorientate the kid, who started giggling in the exact same way that Gerard and Mikey did. "I'll be back in twenty, Pete".<br/>"Yeah that's... yep, fine", I mumbled weakly, turning to his mom who I was now left alone with. This was not exactly what I'd planned. </p><p>I could’ve thrown a tantrum, but I realised Mikey barely ever saw his family, and his little brother probably missed him to death. I did after not seeing him for days. So I let them leave and I stayed with Donna. </p><p>She smiled like a robot that had been programmed to always be happy, and - even though they were lovely - I understood why Mikey never spoke about them. They were too perfect, especially for Mikeyway, who was all sweat and bruises and adrenaline rushes. <br/>"So, Pete, are you and Mikey...".<br/>"Well, sort of", I said, instantly biting my tongue because I wasn't even sure if he was out to his family. <br/>"That's brilliant, really. You're a good looking couple, and I adore the way he looks at you". <br/>"Donna, has Mikey always had... commitment issues?", I had to ask, daring to look her in the eyes. "Because he thinks we'll have to break up after summer".<br/>"And what do you think?".<br/>"That he wants to spend the rest of his life with me". </p><p>Thing is, I had a habit of being right. </p><p>I watched his mom's face light up like a Christmas tree and saw her expression even held as much joy as a child would on Christmas morning. You could almost hear the wedding bells chiming in her head as she gestured for me to follow her, and the next thing I knew I was walking into the large foyer by the front door.</p><p>"There's something I want you to have", she told me, heading over to the long table that sat beneath the crystal mirror. Its surface appeared regal but it was evident that this was a rich person's interpretation of a junk drawer. On each end there was a tall, dim lamp covered in trinkets that I assumed cost more than my house, then there was the stack of thick self-help books with leather covers, and the miscellaneous shells and crystals that were catching light from the sun setting behind the full-length windows. </p><p>In the very center of the table, though, was the item she seemed transfixed on. Two silver rings studded with minute diamonds that were arranged atop a small bowl. She picked one up, the slightly smaller one, and pressed it into my hands. <br/>"Donna, I-", it was beautiful, and I couldn't stop looking at it, but I was confused. "Are you asking me to propose to your son?". <br/>"Mikey's always adored it. I want you to give it to him when it feels right".<br/>"We've only known each other for... what, two months?". <br/>"But does it feel like an eternity?", she looked at me, her face softened and still beaming, and my heart flipped over eight thousand times.<br/>"I suppose so". <br/>"Then take it. Use it when you think you should", she opened her arms to hug me, and I gingerly accepted. When I pulled away from her warmth, I decided I simply just had to ask:</p><p>"Donna, why do Mikey and Gerard not talk about you a lot?".</p><p>The older woman let out a little sigh and peered around cautiously. <br/>"Mikey and Gerard's lifestyles clash with ours. We'll always be here for them and vice versa, but we don't want to be in the limelight and they don't want to settle down. It's a fair deal, but it's put quite a strain on us over the years".<br/>“How?”.<br/>“Gerard and I stopped getting along after he started his band, and he’s never forgiven me for the things I said and did. Mikey was younger, he forgave me to an extent, but Gerard never did”. <br/>"He'd be good", I mumbled, looking at her. "If he settled down, he'd be good for me". <br/>"You can't force it", she said, and I felt my smile fade. <br/>"I know... I can't force it; that's the problem".</p>
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<a name="section0027"><h2>27. michael, you’re the only boy i’d ever want</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Some things were a reality. Other things were meant to just be fantasies. I had always had the sick feeling deep inside me when I thought about which one this summer was. Mikey seemed content in his differentiation and confident in his subsequent hypothesis: this summer was a fantasy. And like all fantasies, it was coming to a close.  </p><p>I stood in the kitchen of his childhood, contemplating everything deeply as Mikey ate away through his second chocolate brownie of the night, staring into the open refrigerator to cool himself down. It was throwing light across the dimly lit room. It must have been at least one in the morning, I wasn't sure, but it was the time of night where it was so easy to think. I hadn't been able to sleep, and neither had he, because we were still on tour time. So this is where we were. </p><p>Though I knew he was on edge about something - and I dreaded to imagine what - I was so relaxed and content when I was around him. I didn't even flinch when he walked towards me and hugged him from behind, slithering his arms around his waist. I simply grinned and allowed the tall, sleepy boy to kiss my neck affectionately. <br/>"You done eating those things?", I asked as I turned to face him. Mikey gasped in mock horror and I had to cover my mouth up to stifle my laughter. <br/>"What's so funny?!", he asked as I rolled my eyes. "I can't believe you referred to cosmic brownies as 'those things', Wentz". <br/>"You're such an idiot". <br/>"Honestly, Petey. They're national American treasures! Seriously, you call yourself American". </p><p>I smiled. Mikey smirked. I pressed my forehead against his. It was like our own personal chain reaction. </p><p>“Not as good as kit kats, though ”. <br/>“No, not at all”.<br/>“Hey, your mom was telling me that her and Gerard fell out?”. <br/>“Yeah? Did she tell you she kicked him out? Honestly, the older I get, the more insufferable I find her”. </p><p> </p><p>Mikey sighed and pushed his hair out of his face, scrunching up his nose at me when he caught me staring.</p><p>"You look hot when you're restless", I told him sincerely. "You look hot in general. Let's go back to bed, come on, you know you want to", I whispered. <br/>My boyfriend kissed my soft, parted lips, "I do. But I also want to enjoy this moment a little longer. I like just looking at you", he drooped his arms around my neck and held me close. We sank into each other, so compatible that our bodies molded into the right shapes as if we were made for each other.<br/>"Dance with me", he whispered. <br/>"Mikes, there's no music". <br/>"Oh for god's sake. Dance with me you idiot", he span me around and caused me to laugh loudly, having to stop myself quickly before anyone woke up. <br/>"Mikeyway, I don't dance! Especially not to absolute silence".   <br/>"You do dance. Come on, you owe me one", he insisted, gesturing at the empty kitchen. I rolled my eyes and buried his face into his chest as I finally allowed my boyfriend to whirl me around the static kitchen, maneuvering me around the kitchen island. Yes, there was no music, but there didn't need to be. Not to make it special. It couldn't get any more special. When we broke apart, Mikey had tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. </p><p>"Hey, don't cry, angel. I'm the one who cries all the time".<br/>"I just... I rely on you so much, Pete. I didn't know how much I needed you until now", he said. I grabbed both of his hands and entwined them with my own. <br/>"Come here", I said. "Come here, Mikes. I'm not going anywhere". Mikey collapsed into my arms and stayed there for what seemed like a lifetime. </p><p>Finally, Mikey looked at me, and for a second I thought I saw the universe in his eyes. <br/>"We have to stop... tour is ending... you're not in love with me", the light-haired boy said, pointlessly wiping a tear away from his face. "You're just in love with the summer". <br/>"Don't say that", my chest tightened instantly. "All the shit we know about each other... the things we've done... Mikey, I love you. You know I do". I was crying. But Mikey? Mikeyway was in absolute hysterics. <br/>"Well you need to stop", he choked out, stammering because he was blubbering and hyperventilating. "We agreed. Summer. Just summer".<br/>"I didn't agree to shit", I spat, helpless and mortified. Mikey's sighed heavily. <br/>"You have to forget about me, Pete. About summer. It'll be easy for you, I promise".  <br/>"Don't say that", my voice was wobbling. Slow. It was like I was tipsy, yet right now I was almost all too sober. "Don't you dare fucking say that, Mikeyway. Shut your fucking mouth".  </p><p>It hadn't even hurt to think about how willing Mikey was to demolish everything we had built up since June time - it had felt like someone stabbed a knife in my chest and twisted it when I realised he thought I could do the same.</p><p>"Forget about me, Pete". <br/>"Stop fucking saying that". <br/>"Make me", he spat, stubborn and overwhelmed with raw emotion, and then I was ignoring everything Mikey had said and kissing him: gripping his waist; running my fingers through his hair; being careful not to nudge his glasses. It was hot and intentional, and Mikey found it in himself to let out a small grunt before he pushed me away. </p><p>"Fuck - Pete, we can't", he said but made no attempt to pull away from the strip I was now licking up the vein his neck. <br/>"Tell me if I cross a line", I whispered against his skin, focusing on the bit of his jaw that I knew he would react to. "I love you. Mikes, I love you". <br/>"Pete, we have to break up", his body jutted forward as I had intended. <br/>"I know". <br/>"So we can't - oh, fuck - so we can't do this". He didn't mean it. He was gripping at the chain around my neck like he always did, as if he was trying to pull me in closer, maybe even close enough so that we merged together. One entity. Never having to separate or break up or live solo. <br/>"Mikey James Way, you are my favorite constellation. You are addictive, and I know addiction", I took the boy's tear-stained face between my shaky hands. "I have loved you from the second you walked into my tour bus and told me you liked kit-kats". </p><p>The boy shuffled, letting a shy smile creep through all the pain in his expression. I was crying so much that I could hardly breathe, gripping hold of Mikey's shirt as I suddenly matched his level of hysterics.<br/>"Just say you love me", I shook my head like I was trying to wake up from a nightmare. "Mikey, just-". It was hopeless. I couldn't form words much longer and so I acted out through actions instead, hitting out at Mikey repeatedly, my weak fists hardly coming into contact with him at first but then slowly turning into full-blown shoves. "Just say you love me. Fuck you. Fuck you, Mikeyway", I was stammering out, nearly incoherent as I slammed his body into the nearest wall. I think I almost knocked the breath out of him, and he gasped in shock, but I didn't care: I wanted to tear every heartstring he had, one by fucking one. <br/>"Jesus, Pete. Ouch, fuck", he rubbed the spot where his head had hit the wall with a dull thunk and then squirmed where my leg was pressed hard into his groin, pinning him down. </p><p>Then there was something else hard. Something that wasn't my leg. </p><p>I peered down, wiping the last stray tear from my face and attempting to collect myself. That's when Mikey Way did three things: pushed his hair from his face; tilted my own face upwards; kissed me. Kissed my parted lips all soft and gentle. <br/>"I love you", it was merely a whisper, but it was there. It had been said, and it had been said with sincerity, enough to make me go back in for a kiss. My breathing stopped teetering on the brink of anxiety.  <br/>"I won't be the same without you. I only want to love you", I sighed out between kisses, desperate for him, hands darting down to the fiddle childishly with his waistband. <br/>"Pete - we can't, we can't have sex".  <br/>"You're half hard with your heart out". <br/>"But we... no. I can't". <br/>"So tell me to stop", I said, daring eye contact becoming pivotal. </p><p>And he couldn't. He didn't want to. <br/>"Fuck it - fuck me. Please. I- I love you, I'm sorry. Pete, I'm so sorry", he was whispering as I slid a hand into his sweatpants. His body jerked forward when I took ahold of him like he was aching for it. "I love you, I love you so fucking much".<br/>"I love you. I love you - I can't live without you".<br/>"That kind of dependence is dangerous, Mikeyway".<br/>"Then let's end it on a high".</p>
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<a name="section0028"><h2>28. trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Though the sun was sweltering hot and the crowd had grown absolutely restless during the first three bands of the evening, I still knew I wanted to give my absolute fucking all when I got back on stage. We all knew my impromptu sabbatical wouldn't ever last longer than a few shows, but I really don't think anyone expected me to attempt my descent back into normality this soon.</p><p>I'd missed it, and not just the show I'd skipped the other day.</p><p>I'd really missed performing with my boys this summer.</p><p>In retrospect, it was totally rich of me to have started the Eightbit tour by complaining that Patrick, Andy, and Joe were going to totally neglect me and leave me all eighth-wheely. I didn't realize how much I had matured these past few months until I realized the complete and utter naivety of my former viewpoint. Though the truth can be hard sometimes, the truth was... I'd neglected them. </p><p>They didn't blame me though. Course they didn't - the three of them were godsends. Before we went on for the first song of our last performance, Patrick handed me a bottle of water and told me, "missed you this summer, Pete".<br/>"I'm sorry, I know. It's been such a chaotic tour, I hardly even remember all the details".<br/>"Sorry?", Andy said, ritualistically twiddling his drumsticks in his hand. "No apologizing in this family. If anyone deserved a romance, it was you".<br/>"Yeah, and we didn't mind not being the center of your attention. I think all of our blood pressures went down not having to look after you constantly",  Joe wrapped his arms around me and swung me around in his boisterous, brotherly manner. I rolled my eyes and tried to mask my laughter. <br/>"Still, there's a lot we need to talk about. Me coming out, switching to a management team that aren't total assholes... what I'm gonna do about Mikey. Taking my meds again, or at least gong back to therapy. These two months have just been... whirlwind".<br/>"Then go out there tonight and make a fucking hurricane", Patrick whispered, and maybe it was hearing such a sweet man use such a harsh word, but with a pat on the back, I was ready to do exactly that.</p><p>The word 'hurricane' is derived from the Native American word for the evil spirit of the wind. They're tropical storms that travel up to seventyfour miles per hour, potentially even higher than that. I knew - twirling around, hyping up the crowd, damn near throwing my back out in the process - that my energy would make a hurricane proud, but I also knew that hurricane's tended to hurt people. Tonight, seeing the teary-eyed, red-faced members of this nationwide family I'd struggled so hard to build, I knew that I could never hurt them. No. I wanted to help them. </p><p>You don't realize how messed up you are until memories are triggered. Deep, desperately suppressed memories with absolutely no intention of making it easy for you to breathe. For self-preservation, the human body decides it has to vanquish anything to do with upsetting childhood trauma, but wouldn't we be better without it? Maybe if we remembered all the dark things, we'd be better off - like when you were nine and nobody came to your birthday party, or when you were thirteen and you cried yourself to sleep every night, or when you were seventeen and you decided that maybe you should stop ignoring all the man-crushes you had. Wouldn't it be smarter to comprehend trauma, grieve and then heal? Rather than forget about it, and keep it pressed deep inside our spineless little bodies until suddenly, one day, we're beavers and those recollections are bursting dams. The human body is supposed to be smart, but I'm beginning to believe that it's cowardly.</p><p>"Hello, beautiful people!", I crooned when I got the signal from Patrick - the head nod that meant 'wrap up our set with your unrivaled people skills' - and then waited for the overjoyed screams of the crowd to die down. "So, Eightbit is officially over tonight, huh? That's strange, it really is, because this tour has been the best and also the worst. And if it's okay with you all, I'd like to talk to you a little bit about that before I head off to bed and sleep for a week. You all wanna hear what I have to say?", I asked them, the question not at all hypothetical.</p><p>Of course, there was a cacophony of intrigued agreement, plus the swapping of some unsteady looking glances from my band and our superiors. I didn't resent their apprehension. I'd be nervous if I were them.  </p><p>"So.. the phrase 'get over it' is something that's been passed down to me by plenty of people, but while it's good for trivial issues I occasionally encounter, there is absolutely no way in hell that that phrase can help a person through everything. A sentence, a word, maybe even a look - that's all it takes to create an evocation of something your body has been trying to make you forget; telling yourself 'get over it' doesn't help in that kind of situation. I can't put it into words, and I think it's because the words can't really catch up with the thoughts that are going on in my brain anymore. Everything is different; I've never been one for change. I find like, peace, in love: that's what I found this summer".</p><p>Keep pushing through, Pete. Deep breath. Ignore all the shocked gasps and knowing cheers. Just talk.</p><p>I continued. "I met a person this summer. Someone with a golden smile and hot whiskey eyes who makes me feel all gooey inside. The thing is, can you keep a secret? Truth is, a lot of people feel like just because I'm in the public eye, I should have to stand up here and tell you I'm bisexual for them. I'm doing this for me, and for you, and for him. My Eightbit boyfriend. And the most fucked up part is that now, because of how corrupt society is at the moment, this person seems to think that just because we're two boys, we can't fall in love and stay together".</p><p>Gasps. Cheers. Push through, Pete. Breathe.</p><p>"So to this person, to the only person who matters to me right now, I have a message. I don't know if he's listening, but just in case... </p><p>Everything has changed. I don't want to be forty and miserably dwelling on the concept that there was once a time in my life where you could, with the most potent glimmer of infatuation in your eyes, tell me that you loved me. The words were always laced with a melancholy sort of love, and they still ring in my ears when I try to sleep, even though it's only been three days since we called it quits. I know you, and I know you want to grow old with me, but I also know you're scared. That's okay because people can move on - it just hurts to think that sentiments which were once laced with love are gonna age to be nothing more than platonic. It's put me in an uncomfortable position. I sat up all night last night thinking of the perfect things to say in this speech, shaking and grasping onto memories like they were warmth.</p><p>So here I am. Staring up at this big hill. I can stay here at the foot, stationary in an eternal emotional purgatory, or I can begin my ascent. The only catch is, I can only make it with you.</p><p>So it's your choice. We can pretend to be strangers after midnight tonight, or you can hit me up and give me an answer to a very important question. Wherever you are, if you're listening somewhere in the crowd tonight... I hope you feel the same. Take me back? Please, I- just come back to me. Thanks. I... I really love you". </p><p>Jesus. Fuck. Fuck. fuck, fuck. </p><p>I was out. I was fucking free. </p><p>What the hell had I just done?</p><p>I knew I'd helped someone somewhere - and that I'd probably pissed off our management in the process - but what did this mean for Mikey and I? </p><p>It was a waiting game. </p><p>But still. Fuck. What the fuck?</p><p>I couldn't even speak to anyone for an entire twenty minutes after we left the stage, and while the rest of my band liked to grab drinks and watch the rest of the set, it was a blessing that the backstage of this amphitheater was indoors so that I didn't have to face any spectators and answer their desperate questions. I just disappeared into one of the two private rooms, face down on an uncomfortable leather couch, praying that Brad wouldn't come down too hard on me for this. I didn't even give a chance for questions or congratulations.</p><p>I just lay there, thinking about when I first met him: his staggering height; his beanie; the legs; the knees; frayed denim; pale skin.</p><p>But he didn't come back. Hearing me pour my heart out didn't make him run back stage and wrap his arms around me and declare his undying love for me. He didn't come backstage, he didn't meet me on my bus before we left that night, and he didn't run through the airport screaming my name. </p><p>Of course he didn't. This wasn't a fucking romance movie. </p><p>We were done. Through. Over. And I already missed him so much that my whole body ached. </p><p>When we got home, everybody still seemed too shell shocked to discuss all the matters at hand, and so they took to walking on eggshells around me. In resent of their patronising baby talk and lack of personal space over the next six days, I simply spent every minute I could asleep. I didn't know what else to do. </p><p>I couldn't turn to the bottle. Couldn't pop a pill or two. Killing myself would just be cliche, right? And probably a little too dramatic. But I also couldn't bare to bury my sorrows in the bedsheets of a stranger. </p><p>I was numb. I was back where I started.</p>
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<a name="section0029"><h2>29. if you marry me, would you bury me?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After five days of uncensored moping and existential spiralling, Patrick and Eliza finally left me alone in the house while they went out for what was probably going to be their last date night before the baby arrived (and promptly kicked me out of my home. Bastard). </p><p>It was their way of saying they trusted me, and although their confidence in me was nice, I only ended up feeling more lonely than I ever had. With nothing to do except from overanalyse things, I had to resort to sitting on the sofa and drowning out every thought I produced with the dreary buzz of the television. Just waiting. Watching reality television, alone, completely still, waiting for them to ring the doorbell like I said I would.</p><p>I even wrote him a letter. I wrote him a fucking letter - wasn't sure if I would ever send it, or even put it in an envelope, but I'd written it, and it sat there on the coffee table fucking mocking me. </p><p>dear Mikeyway, <br/>lately i've been into believing fictional stories like the ones about me and you being happy. they've gotta be science fiction cause how else can you have a monster fall in love with a boy with no heart? actually i'm pretty sure you have a heart, but i'm just as certain it'll never be mine. i can tell you're willing to be loved somewhere on the inside but that doesn't do me any good when i'm still seeing things through thick curtains over windows and padlocked doors on the outside. bitter regrets, predictable forfeits. we lit a fire that was nothing but smoke and hot air. ashes. my hands are empty and you hold all the cards, kind of funny how you don't even want them/me. the final nail in my coffin stabbed me in the heart - from my back. you once made my heart skip a beat, now you make it want to skip this. you've got salty mails ripping my wounds open that you're telling me to let heal. love is a mirage, you only think it's there for so long..til you either wise up or die of hydration. love is the way to blow your brains out minus the gun, i swear. it's the stupidest form of suicide cause you don't die. and whatever doesn't kill you only laughs at you for coming close enough to. sorry, it's just the bitterness talking. ignore it/me. i'm just loose words hanging on the ends of your lips, even looser when i'm anywhere near your hips. a part of me is still trying to pretend i was (mis)hearing things but even the voices in my head aren't that mean to me. and them "i'm sorry," too late, i'm a better (re)actor than the one you're being to convince me. i'm just convinced that telemarketers are the only people with more hangups than me. you called this before you knew the number, and hung up before you got a responce. tell me any of this will get me somewhere worth being without being left behind. i tried, i gave it/you my all, but all i can do is give up. i don't tell you my insecurities so you can use them against me, but help me get over them. instead you said and did the worst thing you could do. worse than cheating to me, i hope you know. but whatever i don't even know, i guess sometimes it takes losing what you had to see what you didn't. <br/>Yours Forever, but never truly yours,<br/>- peterpan </p><p>I was so comatose by ten o'clock that I practically jumped out of my skin when I heard the bell ring, and then with the loudest sigh of my career, I sprung up from the couch to open the door for my roommates. </p><p>My hand fumbled as I turned the key in the lock, and I readied myself to complain to Patrick that we needed another set of keys, but nothing prepared my for what I saw when I actually opened the door. </p><p>"Hi, darling", his voice was odd. Sad. Expectant. </p><p>I swallowed. "Hey, Mikeyway".  </p><p>He shuffled in and I shut the door behind him, and then we just stood there in the living room, looking at each other, me barely believing I was actually seeing him stood there. Mikey Way. Mikeyway. Mikey fucking Way.</p><p>Shit. </p><p>"That's some stunt you pulled at your show", the boy said, face showing the tiniest trace of a smirk. "Only Pete Wentz would break up with me, have make-up sex, get Patrick to pick him up from my parents' house early, ignore me for three days, then make a speech about me in front of the whole of Eightbit". <br/>"Mikes, you dumped me. It was you doing the dumping. And then you left me hanging for... what... a week and a half?", I slowly stepped a little closer to him, timid like he was a stranger. He grinned now, stepping into my personal bubble so that he could run his hand down my arm in a manner that sent shivers down my spine. <br/>"Well, I had, until now. Now I'm reevaluating where my morals are at and I'm thinking that maybe if you asked me, I could agree to spend the rest of my life with you, Petey".<br/>"Fuck, wait I-", I choked up a little from the nerves. "I have this ring, this-". <br/>"This?", Mikey asked, and there it was in all of its diamond-studded glory. "Belonged to my mother. She obviously saw this coming".<br/>"I- wha-... how?".<br/>"I've been in town for three days, Pete. I arranged it all with Patrick... he told me where you lived, he... he came and met me yesterday and said he'd found a ring while he was unpacking your tour stuff. Asked if it belonged to me, and well - it does", he smiled, and I nodded in disbelief. "I figured you had some genius idea but wasn't sure if you were gonna go through with it. So I brought it here tonight just in case you were going to ask me what I think you want to ask me, and if you do then... well... Pete, I'm sorry I didn't call. I had to process, you know. I had to figure everything out and-". <br/>"I... woah. Holy fuck", I took the little piece of jewelry from Mikey's hand and slid it onto his ring finger, looking up at him and blinking. "I don't think we're cut out for the whole down on one knee thing, are we? So is this a yes?".<br/>"Say it".<br/>"But what about rumors? Aren't you afraid that people are gonna kno-".<br/>"Say it, Pete".<br/>"Marry me, Mikeyway. Please?".<br/>"Yes".</p><p>Don't gasp. Don't cheer. Push through and breathe. Most importantly, kiss him. Wrap your arms around his neck, bring his lips down onto yours, feel your fingers in his soft hair and just remember that your bliss could now finally be eternal.</p>
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<a name="section0030"><h2>30. two more weeks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>We were stood in the drink section of the airport's duty-free, Mikey taking a long time picking the right bottle of water because we wanted to bind as much time as possible. Eventually, though, he picked up a drink and walked to the counter to pay for it - I think the fear of missing his flight must've kicked in.</p><p>"So I can have the matching ring when I come to Jersey?", I asked him when he was shoving change back into the pocket of his skinny jeans. He laughed, admiring the ring on his hand with a gentle turn of his thin wrist.<br/>"Course, Peterpan. I can't wait to show you my apartment".<br/>"I can't wait to pack up where you live and move you in with me".<br/>He laughed, peering around and kissing my head before we started walking back to where his brother was waiting. "Jersey beats L.A any day, but we'll talk about that arrangement later, yeah?".</p><p>I spotted Gerard looking down at his watch with an annoyed and impatient expression, so I took Mikey's wrists and diverted us behind a wall quickly. <br/>"Look at you", Mikey smirked, placing one hand on each of my hips. "Still too scared to talk to Gerard".<br/>"Not scared, just painstakingly aware that he could definitely beat my ass if he wanted to". <br/>"And why would he do that? If he didn't like you then he probably would've refused to fly here with me and win you back, you know,". <br/>"Maybe he's mad that you didn't go back to the hotel last night".<br/>"After our reconciliation? He shelters me but he doesn't think I'm celibate. I'm sure my dearest brother knows the ins and outs of make up sex". <br/>"Better then break up sex, by the way. Tell him I say hello, and that I'll probably talk to him once he's less mad over me breaking your heart or whatever", I whispered, wiping a stray tear from my cheek and stepping in closer. <br/>"Actually, I broke yours", Mikey kissed me, gentle and still so innocent. "Two weeks", the boy said, softly. "I'm sorting my shit out and then I'm flying you out to me".</p><p>I'd spent most of the summer understanding that maybe was biting off more than I could chew when I entered this fling - no, no, this relationship - but there I was, dazed by the aqua blue summer sky. I'd fallen to my knees in more than one way and readied myself for the rapture; it turned out I wasn't prepared to fall from the safety and security of Mikey's window, down into the unforgiving and lonesome streets. </p><p>To put it implicitly, I'd miss the benefits of Mikey's early morning company. I'd succumb to depression if I spent the rest of my youth wondering what that summer meant to Mikey. What it meant to me. Whether it meant anything at all. </p><p>What about that time I'd told him I loved him before we knew for sure that things were serious? When I couldn't bring myself to say, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that I just got too lonely". Did I subconsciously, all along, know we were destined for more than just two short months? </p><p>There was the possibility that, if Mikey and I's paths crossed in the near future, I would have to torture myself by making small talk with someone I used to share the inner workings of my soul with. I would never have trusted myself to fall in love again if I ever hurt Mikey - or worse if Mikey ever felt any regret towards us. Us. Me and him. </p><p>I found myself fast believing that, when it came to an end, I would relive this summer if I could relive this summer. I told myself I'd do it all over again if he asked me because he was my best friend, yet I never brought the subject up because I was convinced that Mikey only wanted stringless summer fun. </p><p>But Mikey wanted me. He wanted more than a fling. Mikey loved me, he wanted to be my boyfriend. My fiancé. Hell, for some godforsaken reason, he wanted to be my husband. I don't know how I found him, but I wasn't letting him go now: Mikey Way was my Versailles when elsewhere was dark.  </p><p>Why did he want to live a white picket fence life with me of all people? Sit out the American dream with me, maybe move to the coast and have a couple of kids or adopt a dog. Why was I good enough for him? This whole situation felt almost too good to be true, like an acid trip that I couldn't peel myself away from. I'd given quite literally no opportunity to let anything sink in yet, so I knew there was a definite upcoming conversation with my family about biting off more than I could chew, but all I wanted to do now was do it all again.</p><p>Mikeyway and I were going to take over the world one kiss at a time.</p><p>"You're still gonna be into me after two weeks?", I asked, heart flipping in an infantile way. It was almost pathetic that I still got butterflies around him. A whole summer of sneaking off with him. Going to diners, going to waterparks, making love in merchandise vans. It almost gave me chest pain thinking about all of the opportunities for future summer rendezvous that had opened up now. I had the rest of my life to experience things with him. To live. To find out why living was even worth it.<br/>"We'll see", Mikey grinned, and then he finally let go of me, looking around like a swarm of paparazzi would jump out from behind the departures desk any second. "I love you".<br/>"I love you more. Safe flight".</p><p>With every day the same, I was stuck in a boredom rut for most of last year. Planet Honey Pop was due to start traveling again for Warped Tour this afternoon, and I needed something, anything, to make it bearable.</p><p>I never intended to have someone else's body on mine, calloused fingers splayed across my chest or entwined within mine in their own right.</p><p>I never intended to feel like a teenager again, sneaking off behind tour busses for illicit kisses and staying up late on the phone. I never intended to reach such a high level of intimacy and vulnerability with someone.</p><p>Two weeks. We had two weeks to reconsider the logistics of this relationship.</p><p>We could work. </p><p>And even if we didn't, I'd always find a way back to him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you for reading, sweethearts!!!! maybe i’ll write a sequel, who knows</p><p>this was taken from my wattpad and edited slightly because it got payed dust there so i’d appreciate it if you guys could show it some love here ;)</p>
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